In the autumn sunset
I pass a sublime orchard.
From the low-built walls
I see branches bent
with rainbow-coloured fruit.
A mystical aroma lingers
and spreads afar.
Ah!
What crystal-bright fruit!
How intoxicating the perfume!
He who nurtured the orchard
before tasting its sweet fruits,
please accept my blessing.
Thank you for providing
a weary passer-by
life and hope.
And yet
in this glistening orchard,
why so quiet?
Under the heavy branches,
why such loneliness?
Of the one blessed by me,
why no trace?
Why do you not come
to receive my reverence?
In the autumn wind
the fruit make faces,
conferring among themselves:
'Our gardener
does not recognize
his own orchard! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem