When i watered roses
in my little garden.
Before sunshine burns
and afternoon dawn.
not much a garden rose
but fluently blown.
in a throng of drills,
i toiled with them-
pruning and loving them to grow.
A? came and settled along,
holding me tight in height
and surprise. why roses are
born? The roses were rose and
ready, but my roses alone.
I loved them at all seasons,
in spring when they sprung and
truly in winter when toiled
in sadness. They were still my
cute little blooms for me to care.
Would i be growing roses for-
someone's joy? Would i betray
my roses to other hands?
I even peered through the window
at evening dawns, to see them jolly
and rose. I have no other kind to love.
O' my cute little blooms where have you gone?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem