I can write and write
And not really write
Perhaps most of my life
Has been such writing
And only rarely has come something
True enough and deep enough to mean enough
For myself and for others
Or perhaps it is all not enough
And all the years of writing
All the work of my life
Is truly not enough
And perhaps I am wasting your time with these lines
As I have wasted mine and that of a few others
With all the rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem