What happens to?
Those sleep filed nights
That stops before the dawn
On mornings of that day…
When all’s so all expected
Requiring the best in you
Destined to up and win
Desire gets the best of you
So does anticipation
You rise before the race begins
Then sigh…
Tomorrow, “I’ll lead the nation.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem