Wisdom, is of the quenching rain,
in awe the keen heart doth meld to.
Wise is the one that sees, who sees
the flower, embrace the morning dew.
Astray, the one who loses the touch of life,
snared, enmeshed with but only worldly things.
Lost far behind, the heart, the mind
that hears not the song,
the song the thunder sings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem