We aging poets
Scribble hard in the passive
Recalling the active;
I envoke your separate, central parts,
Basking in the warm ripples of you
In June lake water;
Absorb the yellow blur
Drying the pressed grass.
Passive lines from past lives;
And the old poet loses the clarity
Re-capturing the passions
Of the young poet's life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem