Sun towards an angle of geometry,
Today is the rule of history,
There is no string in guitar,
Glucose, sucrose sure the race,
Tide does not wait,
Is it my venue?
Is it that place where birds are colored?
Is it that place where flowers are colored?
It's a good place,
Never think slowly,
A magic or miracle,
We don't know,
Creation of god is love,
Alas! What the trouble.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem