When I loiter in this garden clean and serene,
And look back on the three years so nice and green,
The talented, worthy friends of night and day,
The rhymes fresh and touching, for which I oft stay...
When frost begins to dye maple leaves picturesque,
And poets paint the world on paper and desk,
When contests are held, each other to rival,
And the poets and public at them marvel...
I want to sing of the open air and green grass,
Where butterflies flutter over flowers in mass,
Where voice and glee waft in breeze, brewing mellow,
Where ode and song under the moon float and billow,
Because right here bees and larks will forever sing,
And no woe exists in the everlasting spring.
Nov.18th,2011.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem