I seem to possess, alas, a fool's heart,
Simple and naïve, not alert to dart.
Fantasy and illusion its welcome food,
Relieving the hunger of a retarded mind.
Moon-gazing and wind-chasing, just learned,
And being oft sent on a fool's errand.
Tears idle vainly shed secret, time and again,
For what reasons not always clear, like a chain.
Such lack of social sense, so dull of defense,
Indeed slow for society's pace and strides.
For a heart so out of place, and easily bend,
What would be better than to let it well hide?
Better to hide it in a fool's paradise and it cherish
Than to have it repeatedly hurt, break, and perish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem