Endlessly churning,
The mind once through,
Can slumbering rest,
And in its peace,
Depart with the souls,
Begone of this world,
Lost in its infinate chance,
Anything can happen,
Anyone win,
The wrist will shake,
With the roll of the dice,
And my head will be filled,
With dreams on mice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem