hope is such a silly thing
we, oh, hold so dear,
like newborn babies.
we look at them grow.
but some leave early.
those who stay,
they're either privileged
or just tired of living.
some are confused,
some know where to go.
some are contented,
some crave for more.
silly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem