Watching the sky grow dark,
catching shadows of tree branches in my mind.
Capturing the essence of evening in a precious memory,
kept divinely out of sight so as not to be destroyed
by another's careless words.
Playing on edges of night with memories and images
conjures up great thoughts, too valuable to let stray
into the cooling atmosphere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem