Rainclouds, come…
The beast is toiling
The roots of grasses
Have grown tough because of drought
I’ve waited days that turned into…
A fertile land where hope did grow
I’ve sown an act or two
Of piety and it was hard
The field i till is far from home
And so it is not mine to own
But solace from a setting sun
Or a misty breeze… is quite enough
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem