His head’s a wisp of smoke
And it floats above the earth
It doesn’t see the purpose
Of ground or trees or dirt
His body is a breeze
And it blows, it never yields
It whispers in the ears
Of farmers in their fields
He floats above the ground
‘Cause his feet can never touch
His head is in the clouds
With thoughts of nothing much
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem