When there are so many flowers bloom,
I always want to look at the thorns,
And the pain which spring out tears,
When there are so many boxes of gifts,
Scattered in the path of my target,
I have never opened many, only aware,
Of a few, regrets rule my heart and soul,
I am very ungrateful and think only of myself,
When I walk on the piles of grains and hay,
A spiky shell pricks my toe and it really hurt,
Do I choose to step on the particular spot,
Where the hurt, hides to seek the victim,
I am too selfish to ignore all those lovely places,
It is my own fault to be ungrateful and temperate,
Not praising the goodness everywhere found,
An ungrateful person does not appreciate or see the lovely gifts and flowers bloom. Yet you, yourself do. We all have a hand of greed. My heart reaches out to you. I thank You
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great poem, sometimes the pain that life can throw at us can make us ungrateful for better things in life.