sunset pours into the window
of the hermits hut
he thinks the sun in the pine
is his silver treasure
the sun paints his images
the widow frames his world
the sharp blue of noon
is faded to a softer shade
nuances of green abound
the silence itself is verdant
red seed pods kiss the earth
beneath a golden rain tree
and a final yellow dandelion
defies the change in the wind
the hermit greets the afterglow
a palm tree nods its grief
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem