Vladimir Nabokov
My friend, I`m really just sorry...
My friend, I'm really just sorry
about who, in secret blindness,
passing all length of the green alley,
just can not notice on leaves
the striking network of the streaks
and points of the tubercles
or even the serrated tracks
from saws of the blue-horned slugs.
ๅๅ่ซๆ้็ผ่กฃ， ๅๅๆๅๅฐๅนดๆถ。 ่ฑๅผๅ ชๆ็ด้กปๆ， ่ซๅพ ๆ ่ฑ็ฉบๆๆ。 Covet not a gold-threaded robe, Cherish only your young days! If a bud blooms, gather it, Lest you but...
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