Singing of Myself

by Hiroaki Sato
Paper, many sheets of it, piles up in my room.
Painting bamboo, my senses have yet to turn to ashes.
How could people know what my heart is like,
regarding me, treating me, as a lady painter?
Translation: 
Language: 
English
Author of original: 
Ema Saiko
Tags: 
Short Poems
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