Every day before night often is.
Grasping for the open source,
high in the clouds it is close.
A friendly face I came through.
The day that moving water stopped,
I understand that feeling full,
glazed eyes, my smothered memories.
When they greet me at the top.
I see that someone I once knew,
never wants to leave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem