The moment you see through water, you’ll find the beauty out:
Wavy, slack, and silent.
All is ready
Like a bird, with wings folded, waiting for the wind to die away, for the night to fall,
And for a corner in the mirror to move toward its shadow
All bygones are as before,
But with spring hidden in the heart
And they no longer identify yearnings with stubborn attachment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem