Rain whispers on the roof,
and if I listen carefully,
I know it only speaks the truth.
It is a sound beyond the ages,
primal as the gentle wind,
wise as all our earthly sages.
It comes to tell us of the gift,
the greening land, the blue of sea,
the firmament and clouds adrift.
It hints of all the fragile things,
the treasure of the path of time,
the silent joy a whisper brings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Things we do forget to enjoy.
Sometimes.