our backpacks become lighter
we are on the last bags of food
bags of chips become pregnant
soup boils at lower temperature
i might be excited but i feel strange
i can see clouds below; no trees
few hundred yards there's the top
japanese arch can't read what's on
i ring the bell three times & wish
i dropp on my knees & give thanks
so as my friends join me in prayer
we celebrate with kirin beer & soup
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem