They live small lives, mice.
They groom their tails like eating corn, fight, hide to eat,
I guess that they love each other because they sleep in little piles.
They live short lives, two years at most and it is a risk to get attached
But as I watch them pair up for a run on the wheel
I realise that all our attachments are finite
And I will love them for all their short lives or risk loving no one at all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem