The vineyard is dismal with no flowery smiles of light;
The green and the mead
are touched by the rain of summer;
The cloud has tattooed the skies of the East.
Ah, the ball of light
... A passionate glow it shines
Awaiting a day to break through the dark,
The dismal and the dusky blockade of the unknown
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem