Behind The Stick Poem by Possawat Piankij

I'm always a follower;
I walk behind my stick.
You might think I'm not clever
When I hit a wall brick.

On hearing many noises,
I pause for a while.
What are that voices?
Do the speakers smile?

What's that odor?
Fragrance or a flower?
I begin to get bored;
It's again my wonder.



Someone touches my shoulder.
I don't know who he is.
I'm stuck I this wonder.
Never have I got it, never.

I yet keep my wonders,
Wanting to know the answers.
I need to clear my sight.
Could you give me some light?

- One Whistle -