If life’s experiences were boxed
The shape of mine would be completely round
An orb in which I revolve about
Tumbling from situation to situation
No anchor to hold in one place
Forever rolling on
No start and no end
Just a multitude of excitements
Moulding character, mixing in the faults
Self critical, yet unashamed
Onwards rolling forever
Until time squashes out the spark
Experience and wisdom forever lost
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem