Fields of grain filled with sweet,
Blooms in spring, with seasonal blight.
White clouds above green fields,
with the sun splendidly lit.
The oak, the maple all in lines,
flames and flicks the backdrop pines.
The streams flow clear and cold,
out of the hills
O, with harmony it feels.
Birds of sovereign beauty
spread across the roadside and town,
Awaiting twilight from dawn...
a silent street...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem