The bustling that began at dawn declines.
Declines the sweetness of the first beginning.
Begins the ennui of the next losing.
So when we lose a friend, a mind, a brain.
The Earth mourns duly and dutifully.
And we, we humans must not less than that be.
For the bustling that began at dawn declines.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem