I watch myself tiring
walking this carpet
of grass from winter
so many bald patches
abound, no growth
few trees succumb
to frost, now timber
naked but birds chirps
colorful wings, breast,
beak in search of food
brooks water so clear
only fox tongue has
has visited this place
thin water nothing floats
even fallen leaves, settle
tiny blooms of blue
clinging from vine like
grass, so many of them
beneath a tree, same
same place last year
I sit to ponder years
walking this stretch
I worn ten shoes
I still wanted coming
my life is here, my soul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem