Those days were fine,
Those days were mine,
The flying kites often
Vanished from the sight,
Yet we often chased,
But my gladness never was fallen.
Friends confessed the friendship,
Those days were mine,
Those days were really fine.
Now life is just a plight,
Making no sense of complacency,
Lack of delightedness,
Just to chase after false easement,
And no permanency;
But those days was fine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem