Day in and out through the whole sun
laughing, playing, never to run
Lovely daisies picked ever so slightly
and into the grass fall so lightly.
Decrepit, decayed straw to step upon,
Yet still not a move from that ever so deathly lawn,
as through each day in, day out,
sleep with a lazy, long-relaying pout.
Life to death is but a transitory ruse
and in not living, one breaks all rules,
and all bets being off, one defies explanation
and in truth, with time, life becomes only provocation.
When living becomes but a decrepit condition,
No longer, will life truly be worth living.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem