Passing by the motor bike
The rider doesn't know
The sad music of trees
Divided by a black road
And expressed in gentle dance.
Leaves fall apart
And the green is about to grieve.
The electric line beneath
Carries the power of life,
Often cut and always low.
And still being divided
Till the rider comes back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem