I find mine in my dreams,
And everywhere that I look.
It seems as though life is no more than a book.
It’s in films and movies,
And in scripts and novels.
48 hours a day in the darkest hovels.
Mine is in my writing,
My pieces of art.
It all makes me wake with a good start.
If it wasn’t around,
We would always be bored.
All life would be dangling from a thin cord.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem