Tired of waking
I long for the night
Undressing Shadows
Folding their gowns.
Longing for empty malls
with small servings
on tiny plates.
For minds who keep
silent when winds
orchestrate tales.
I long for weeping willows
which don't cry when
branches shed leaves.
And green meadows
in blossom idling time -
before ours runs out.
I long for fresh bread
without watching games
at the Coliseum.
And cool spring water
splashing my face to wake
what's left of the day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem