Gazing at an evening sky, watching gray clouds circle above us.
Pine trees silently growing - as I watch I cannot see their
growth.
Branches whispering in the wind as they reach out to each other.
Pine needle silhouettes lacily, fragily, spreading themselves
in blankets above us, protecting us to a degree from drops of
sprinkling rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem