A path I chose:
Unpaved, dusty, coarse.
Preceding trails of midnight;
Tired, but restless though.
Miles and miles, so it seems.
A long, long way to go.
Heading back? There's not much time.
Too late, for all I know.
Useless, if I wither here.
Not a soul would see me
Resting awhile
Beneath barren branches.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautifully written. Keep writing.