I cannot say half a mile is finished,
Yet the size of eagerness is too atrocious;
Near two years the threat of climbing
Has subjugated the Earth and its plunder.
I have done viewing and seeing on all levels,
Venturing over boats of the land and sea.
O Wonderful Years! O Beauteous Time!
My mileage exceeds the limits of endurance,
The sailing is a gun, the flap of the age.
I fixed the bullets of a long time, abject sign.
I have an arrant year for the guns to blow,
The water steals the air forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem