When grasses wild
swept wide my wintery moor
and cool winds
gathered upon the air,
an hour-glass faraway
with weary grains
drew out my clouded dreams
slipping ever faster
in the soft smoke of timely day.
And even as the leaves withered
I sought still
to gather thoughts
of what and when and might have been.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem