In blue sky floats a multitude of clouds -
White, black, of many shades and thicknesses;
An orange sun, about to say farewell,
Touches the massed cloud-shapes with streaks of red.
The wind blows as it lists, a hurricane
Now carving shapes, now breaking them apart:
Fancies, colours, forms, inert creations -
A myriad scenes, though real, yet fantastic.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem