There is rain falling.
I am one of them:
One of the many drops leaving imprints on the floor,
Slowly swallowed up... muddled and covered by a thousand more.
What is the point of my story?
Between two trees is a blank and dry spot,
As though inviting me to join it, and I do.
That is where I sit now as I write this,
Hoping to leave an imprint of my own.
(Sigh) You're just to good at this poetry stuff. You made your mark, buddy. This poem is one of a kind. 10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this one. I believe most people at some point wish to be remembered to leave a mark on this world then again maybe its just artists like you and me that want our words to remain long after we're gone.