In small bushes brilliant blue wild it grows
and if picked the tiny flowers fall,
in spring it is among the hedgerows
with eyes constantly watching it is small
and in the early red morning new born,
something living tranquil and really free
like a inviting berry on the thorn
it has a kind of serene beauty
is very fragile and somewhat lovely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem