I saw him in the moonlight,
with a fishing pole in his hand,
There was no water for miles,
and I wondered what he was doing,
for hour's without end.
Then he swished the pole,
back and forth,
and I slept a peaceful sleep.
The next day I awoke,
but I never saw the Moonlight Fisherman again.
But alas, I still waited,
a never-ending hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem