What such force cuts my power,
Slowly curtailing me
To the lowest decline
That I strive to stay up.
Following all I've done,
Like a dry withered flower,
To uphold sensing free,
I must hold my soul shine
To gain my strength not drop
To the stage that is none.
Like a long dragging hour,
This force won’t let me be.
Rendering a rest fine
Then crafts the force to stop.
After, the force is gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem