Our souls are like the newly spring grass
To be discovered under a colorful leaves' mass.
As time races by, we must remove them
To see what lies beneath, a beautiful gem?
Walking by the mirror with ever passing days
Do we worship beauty's face that only fades?
Can we look deeper to our beating hearts?
We must see that we matter, all parts.
The eyes become deceived by the body's appearance.
They cannot forget the ugly face of assurance
That won't let them recognize their inner beauty.
So the mind is often more than moody
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem