I never felt at home below.
As people come and go.
Silly when I give this thought.
Where in the end we go.
The sun begins it's arch on high.
All feel it's noon time glow.
Blind eyes would let it fade away.
To set again each day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My hands stirring my heart shrinks pounding ls one with the bird's chest of much curiosity to know where is after all our home-below Lovely poem! ! ! ! And thanks for your comments Poet.