Wet, Windy Night on the payment,
Lonesomeness with a will,
I walk the somber city streets,
Skirting the sides of a hill.
All that's ever met with is only this,
A mood of love and longing, wistfulness.
And my prize for Idealism's quest,
A solitary, rainy, hint of bliss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this one is very well written. Poetic. Very good.