Every morning I wake to inspect
the Sun come rising in the East.
To make doubly certain that it is
the same as the Sun sunk in the West.
A foolish notion this spherical world
same horizons every day.
Predictable as a pendulum and
moving in fits and spurts.
A world where people are born
only to die again.
Where their grandest achievement must be
not to muck things up.
Yet, of course, they do.
In grand style at that.
Most with no purpose greater
than the average alley cat.
Some, though, have nobler ideals.
See the wonder, as I, in the sunrise, sunsets.
they intuitively know their places
in relation to all creation.
Those are the ones to watch out for.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem