Nothing in nature
Holds it so pricely
As its beauty
But man labours
Time un- end to make his own.
He honours that which
Nature divinely bestows
And vainly chases his own
Creation dangling in the air.
The fresh elegance
Of things in the morning dew
Is but a mirage
In the setting sun
Where the brittle nature
Of things crumble
And man grumbles
At his own craft.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem,i luv nature too