Somebody once said there's nothing new here
Under the sun its all the same
No one can find anything of worth here
If we're all just playing a pointless game
Our works and toils earn us nothing more than worthless vanaties
We quest for crowns of kings, search for finer things
But find tarnish and rust
Silver and gold we can't ever hold, They're chasings after the wind
To taste all that is sweet becomes out only feat
But on our tounges is only dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem