They sang in the evenings with sadness,
Underneath the trees of the old legends.
Yearly, a new bridge was formed tonight,
Night's fame joined with our lasses of the night.
Towards the centre we proceed and connive
A secret pleasure, falling away from me.
I have seen a legend been old, like the regime
Of the future and past, but not the present.
I am a singer of perception, shrivelled in height
As the cold night is full of treasures,
Then my turning is my wailing
And the wishing of you creeps in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem