to wait for something you know
it won't happen is unthinkable
but art of waiting is remarkable
hand going round and round i see
so quiet i could hear my mind
whispering in mumbles; what a pity
skin could wrinkle, eyes could dry
leaves would fall, flowers bloom
so many things could happen; yet
not interested besides rest a while
i'm bombarded with senses far beyond
imaginable by young mind; it blows
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem