And so They travel on the wind,
With no idea where They may end.
Blown about with not a care,
Their fate could see them anywhere.
Who would not yearn for such a life?
Free from sadness, scorn and strife.
With no worry and no woe.
Hither, Wither, Tither they flow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem