O guardian pain,
when you sleep-I remember
of a sin to catch fireflies of love.
The listener has no
ears. Understands by eyes. You want
to write with the blood of a weeping god.
Are you a waister of
hungry stories of the werewolves?
The executioner waits for the offender.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem