Lush green spokes of grass
rich and velvety deep
hedged with an impasse
of dark spiralling nettles.
This-was-my dream garden
my joy with prickled legs
this-was-my dream of Eden
boating on rolling river logs.
Frogs croaking jewel-like
knocking off the gentle dew
a face pure white; cloud lion-like
looking back, it was all a golden hue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem