Buds spring in spring, leaves fall in fall.
Seasons chase time with constant steps.
We chase seasons and get older.
Spring rush in and begin a year,
and he searches for everything,
keep curious about the world,
Fall walk near the end of the year,
he can feel the cold of winter,
and reserve passions of summer.
Do not feel joy about the buds,
do not be sad about the leaves,
as seasons tell us it's nature.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem