Dark silk clouds hang down low,
off around my head.
Held in to long,
to come up short, one can not see to breath.
Fixed upon your moving eye,
one tree that moves around outside.
Stained white picket fences, I have splashed.
Each window washed so clear,
along the branches, I see green leaves are still.
When sleeping deep, You Are, ' How I Suffered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem