Thoughts; leaves, added to this time of year's
Settled down flutter-passions.
Even the birds in flight convey rest!
With web-spun agitations.
This glass-held view, of a wine's pouring
Relieves me not, however
Of what, drenched, from out the past, face-blown
Fresh as spring does hover.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem