Weary, worn and in despair,
I stumbled down the busy street;
My only hope a fervent prayer,
I blindly stared down at my feet.
Is this it? The end of the road
that promised once to never end;
Too hard to bear this heavy load,
Too tired even to pretend.
With no recourse, no plan to make,
I glanced up to the silent sky;
Pleading for a chance to take,
begging for some small reply.
And petals from a blessed tree,
blew on the breeze and over me..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
no recourse, no plan to make, good writing, thanks.