Under the mushroom tree,
getting high and climbing,
to the top watching,
the sky fall apart,
summer youthful days,
wasted haze,
like seeing my grand mother,
naked in a Maxwell Parish painting,
sometimes things are not just right,
full moon lights the night,
stars fall in streaks so bright,
in the planting fields,
under the mushroom tree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem