When crickets croon the night,
Everyone can hear.
When the fur of the wilderness above wavers,
Everyone can see.
When the sound sits still; serene and firm,
Everyone can feel.
When the season hits the spring,
Everyone can smell.
When a life sprout from an egg,
Everyone can witness.
When the world takes a turn,
Everyone can speak.
How I love not to see this picture burn.
Nature shrieks, harmony we seek.
The same old place - so pure, so meek.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem