I think a dream would be a tapestry,
But we fumbled in our attempts
ours was more like a bolt of cloth.
A banner woven in ecstasy,
Crafted of froth,
materials, shimmering and ethereal.
But it expired fast,
It soon came to break and dissipate.
Its fabric burning brightly away in a gust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem