There come chance's to repend on them,
why should anyone drawn in confusion
Don't you see the days rotating
Dont you see the wind deriving
Somewhere one still articulating
The dreams from last whenever flying
A wicked believing of how is too late
Maybe drunkened from the rottened wines
A choice of nap for a mind refresh
Awaking up on to ring a bell on date
To a future of many confident divines.
May 13.2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem