Store house of beauty,
With its thorny body.
See, this rose plant.
But the rose in its
Sprinkling-nozzle
Gives every colour
Here to all.
It is not the rostrum
That I can tell you
Everything I think.
But stay there
To read me in the early
Light of the sun
Everyday with tea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem