Looking at a clear Christmas light,
Not turning around to see what the future holds,
Holding down all thoughts,
but still seems like all is well.
Working with a conscience as clear
as the moon light in a blue dark sky,
still hoping to see it clearer than it seems to appear.
Nothing but a blur vision,
without a scope but all like a new blue ribbon,
faking all day as if it were newly born,
thinking you could see it all from a closer stone throw,
but all to no avail for it became a less clearer glow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem