When young you have an object to which you would aspire
When young you have an object to which you would aspire
and, having reached that object, aims go even higher.
Not leaving time to breathe, or even look around,
except perhaps ambition-wise, seeking higher ground.
The joy then of achievement, at last you've reached the peak,
dampened by the knowledge you've nothing more to seek
Slowly in the book of life you turn another page
and try to read what's written there with eyes now dimmed with age.
You gaze out of the window, and find there something new
and wonder how in all your years you haven't seen this view.
What's behind that hill; now you've time to look.
Then suddenly you know, there's much more in the book.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
much more in the books, especially life-book..