There's little in taking or giving,
There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living
Was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is
The gain of the one at the top,
And art is a form of catharsis,
And love is a permanent flop.
Work is the province of cattle,
And rest's for a clam in a shell.
I'm thinking of throwing the battle -
Would you kindly direct me to hell?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
we all have a battle from time to time its part of lifes colours. But its how we emerge from each thing life throws at us that makes us stronger good poem Micron