After the sky has dried its eyes at last
the stream that falls down from above
and seeks the bosom of the woods
to cry on in cascading cataracts of tears
begins to laugh at last and loudly
makes mood music of its own for us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow this time the diction u used was esp very poetic. The imagery a delight to read of, combined with muse. Beautific in brevity. Nice to read from you again.