Very little the tree is. After the rain,
When, the sunshine comes, there are,
On its leaves, light is coated; It, even,
Never notices: When the sun sets—
But in the dark nights,
When, those leaves reflect nightly-sunshine,
Then, as much as I wonder— even more,
I dream a dream: At the year, while the independence of
My motherland would complete its fifty second years,
I'll distribute this nightly-sunshine to the North Pole—
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem