Rustling over the dense green
And driving off a day's sheen,
Comes here the dark rain
That might flush all the plain.
The Pilot's show of impudence
Causes massive turbulence
On buds cute and chaste,
Pouring flakes of frost.
Knowing not the fated spot,
On wings of brook they float;
Blooms and pollen, leaves and sprout,
Blend in bubbles, swim and gloat.
To Nature, a fall too is celebration,
To Man, even a win is frustration.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem