Where the daydream are going
On to the cliffs of the old
Thoughts of the faraway glowing
That reality can not hold
Simple leaves that turned red
Where they danced around
Into secret lineage bled
And are not by change found
Time has earned its poets fee
For each mood and desire
But nothing gone could ever be
Clinched again to world of fire
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem