Today, I seem younger than yesterday
because
I did not lie,
did not walk another’s path,
nor did I await happiness in a theater.
I looked at the sky,
took the chance to nap in a golden rice field,
and wrote a poem, though short.
I held a private conversation with a flower,
led an errant butterfly to her home,
and laughed in mirth
without reason, just like a child.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem