Let the cypress grow
miles, thousands of
miles from my house;
I shall not acquaint death.
Let it deepened its roots in
the mountain peaks, where i
will not be pleased to come.
Even withered blown leaves in
Autumn, must chill by river banks>
where my garden shall not come for drink.
I shall find a tree rich to grow; free of
shadow of death; cypress retreat thousands
of miles away from my house.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem