I write to you in jingles
and babble on in speech,
of what I ever fail to know
and therefore cannot teach.
The riddle of the fleeting joy,
uncaptured glimpse of truth.
Elusive as an elfin child,
as lost as vanished youth.
Religion of pure beauty,
what nobler one to reach?
But this joy I have never snared,
and thus, I cannot teach.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem