Once I thought,
that the most beautiful flower
grows in the middle of fields.
And among the lush green,
she sways and dances with the breeze.
But now I know,
that the most beautiful of all
grows not in green.
But in the middle of solid rocks,
tries to be the tallest she can be
and gracefully blooms as if she was free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem