Loneliness's mean's are yellow and grey
so full of things without overlay
concerned only to bustle under
contorted friend or kindled blunder?
idle mind collecting moss
in the street cleaned and tossed
sown as seeds for actions anew
uncovered flow can foster fuels?
Even stones rue advance
but weathered ones see happenstance
by this highway know at breath
be directions a form of test?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem