Beneath the skies, stretched out on a field of grass,
lies a pool of water.
Left from the rain, it reflects images of what is
standing over it.
Droplets slide gently into depths, merging with the
rest.
Ever wider ripples from each drop, causes images to
seem to shiver.
Weeping willows with heads bowed low, reach out and
over, forming beautiful prose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem