Every days and nights,
She walks up and down-
Past corn fields
Her flip-flops,
Fluttering as
A nightly bird
In my home,
She invites herself
As if my book shelf
Belongs to her and me
She deserves no blame
For she is like one without shame
But, how can she understand
When her age's reluctant to slow
And unwilling to quit her mother's breasts?
My beautiful home,
My beautiful estate
Can not be divided
Just like one'shusband.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem