Racing throughout life, not paying attention to details,
most people miss the simple things in this world.
Falling behind the eight ball, wondering why they are
not happy with their lot in life.
Tearfully blaming their situations on all manner of
things, instead of facing themselves interiorly.
Righting the things they find there, under coverlets of
excuses and blame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem