i speak the words of loneliness
it flows with the rush of the river
it flies with the wind from the west
it is blown towards you
who live at the foot of the mountain
under the tall trees
this worm waits when will be the next
leaves come
when will be the next bloom of flowers
in the middle of my
drought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem