When the irises bloomed at the end of summer,
in radiant bright colours
and the evening star was out early
with the blue in the sky wavering
I was mourning the day I lost you
in a similar setting,
but then it was early spring
with all the blooming flowers inviting
me to look at them,
to smell their fresh aromas
and you were lost to me
as if somebody had picked you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem