I have to try a new puzzle,
Feeling them is trivial, so trivial;
I have to try a reading line,
As mastering is the feeling of age.
The seasons are new to me,
As they swiftly flow into years
Of years of years of years.
Motion is the secret command
From above, I love this joy;
My puzzle dissolves in beakers
Of heat and furnace, the millions
Of old men are against me
In their rivalry of the right television,
Of the several sweet moments.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem