a man working in his truck
fall asleep with open door
his paper work flew outside
I pick it up; put it on hood
with a piece of stone holding
he never wake while I am gone
he will be worried when he will
who am I who saw him taking nap
but he must have been doing it
for sometime beneath that tree
tire tracks are deeper to see
busy man; he'll change someday
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem