a day is next
to a night that's gone
with colors complex
to carry hours on
and nothing is for real
just what you feel
going on
a flower is made
to carry true summer
and then it shall fade
in autumn's honor
for nothing will stay
only go to dust
under the sun
so much is of everything
and nothing is true
only complexes bring
or make up some new
and let it then go
on to the lost
where all's done
and this all is life
with much still more
work along and strife
for nothing's sure
till end of its day
and pale of its flower
complex become gray
before it's gone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem