This little thing,
larger than life,
the gracious pursuivant of journey
with quirks on its gait.
This little thing,
which one believes, in doubt
That find no meaning
when no meaning sprout
Which grip a tree
that seek the sun
emaciate on mud,
nurtured on fertile ground.
Leading to somewhere
tell the right way
If in itself is right
your way's recalescent light
It'll tell what's yes or not
The two will lead you through
And will always make you think you're right
Philosophy, so little, I wonder what it might.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem