Like a snail contesting in the midst
The tired wind leisurely drifts about
Although it feels no utter shame
For its monotonous game
It searches for the diluted lost
As it maneuvers without a sweat
For the tired wind knows one thing
Its force is greater than all things
Like a swarm of migrating birds
It travels cautiously back and forth
And not caring what’s left back
As it sluggishly turns its sack
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good short one that. Read mine - Tine For Another - Adeline