Over hills and valleys
I am traversing
Seeking the mountain
Of great where the muse abodes
I have traveled a long way
And I am one hundred and twenty
Five kilometre to the great height.
The journey is boring
And my feet too heavy to lift
I'm slowing down
Like a slug
But steadily and slowly
I will touch
The face of the great muse
Sitting and waiting
For a tiring fledgling.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem