No sense but nonsense makes my days,
A sense I persuade myself to be a sense
Each morning, hour, every step I take
Except when I forget of making senses.
Forgetful happiness.
Forgetfulness so happy
That ends when moment brings
The lines of role I play
To my own mind.
How happy those
Who need no studied parts
And see no stage
In what their feet are treading.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem