A uniformed daze,
And a caffeinated delay,
Sets my haste,
In a slicked back sense of a mess.
To my dismay,
Monotony awaits,
And humidity has an edge,
To a step of youthful uncertainty.
Yet I did turn my head,
To let a stranger in,
One morning in May,
For a reason I cannot say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
youthful uncertainty, but it is flamming..