Everything will get taken care of underneath the pine trees
As the cars turn around
Like a merry-go-round
Where we once came across one another
To stare into each others’ brown
Eyes through the forest:
I thought you were a butterfly,
But I do not know what you thought
I was,
And the clouds went through the sky,
But they weren’t anything anyways.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem