But your soul,
Lovely and sweet.
And it is all
In fragrant zone.
All dreams
All wild
All strange
All true.
And hence
I said death is
Like a fast track court.
Harvest seasons
No loitering but
Listen to birds sing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The soul is the Lords and will return to the maker at death. Beautiful