a speck of white shine
beneath a fallen leaves
i'm sure it's an orphan
i leave it alone, let it be
there when sun comes
next day until it's found
so many times i lost one
or two in that roundabout
i always give credit; swing
my hands is leading head
or just plain fear of losing
disturb all sense, direction
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem