If I had not seen
the golden sap, sapping gold;
if I had not seen a fire
illuminate your face;
if the winds of winter
had never howled for me;
if I had been too afraid to
walk to woods in icing rain
and see the things not often seen,
fox burrows with mushrooms
at their doorstep, your
smile in the quiet night,
who would I be?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem