Up and down like a tide
When will the contest end?
Embark on no destination ride
But, sometimes plain truth bend
Plan to have many faces
Within a short time
But zero available places
Fingers lack ryhme
A message to no one
Who miss their life chance
But deliver it not to unborn
Who know not how to bounce
Amend and amend, time is going
The wind will always blowing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem