Secretly fled to smell the bees
Her eyes looking deep into
Indian myna broken wing
Quit looking overwhelmed by the sound horse's hoof
I understand your point by way of
Hide yourself in the body of the tree
I suggested that we meet at the thought of honor
We rode all the sun's path stones walk walk
Preparing for a new thread back to the silent lip corner
Phomtaya ancient rain tree can be wringing more
The yard shy
So just get rid of it
Wherever you turn in clutch
At the moment we are still in the decision.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem