My findings are listed here,
where in winter there was time to spare.
through the window i watched the light,
sparkling in its wonderful glare.
Where the trees cried on the dreadful loss,
with whom they shared their glows and gloss.
on the small dead tore out leaves,
who led them to alone as like a water moss.
They sobbed on the bareness of twigs,
somewhere past where lied some small and bigs.
who hid him from the nudity of today,
and paired like the well known colleagues.
His tears doesn't are seen to simple men,
who are drowned and sank in the luxury's den,
but are visible to sad like me,
who can't afford the power of a pen.
The wishes of trees i heard,
the solitary and crying word.
of spring to should set its awaited dawn,
so again there shall be the chips of bird.
He whistles a song that was unheard to other,
but a lately wish i noticed as father,
to pass my sights on him all again,
because he was in loss of his dearly brother.
The solitary song always whistle,
in the young autumn; s awful cradle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem