In the corner alley of the thickening twilight
All day with the wearied ear, silently I listen carefully to
The tramping sounds of the trace in the moving twilight.
Am I bright,
To understand the trace of tramping?
Now, foolishly, after grasping all thing,
For a long time, which are in my deep heart,
And many of myself who are suffering,
When I send them back to their hometown by ones and twos,
Then, into the somber corner of the street,
The white shadows which vanished without the sounds.
The white shadows,
The white shadows to which I stick to love
After letting go back the all thing in me
And I roaming forlornly over the back alley
And coming back to my room being tinged like the twilight.
Like a faithful and matured lamb,
Let's graze the mass of grass all day without anxiety.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem