I went beachcombing for comets
knowing only too well
they exist where I'm walking,
and at last, I find-my-comet
but oh, look, there's another
and now another and another.
My pockets-by-now-are heavy
of picking comets, I weary.
When what is truly rare
does abundantly become commonplace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great poem, like it. Too much of something always takes the excitement away.