There is nothing like witnessing,
What has come to pass.
Especially in the lives of those,
Who believed themselves with time to laugh.
As they expressed their judgements on others,
Experiencing criticsms and unknown heartaches...
Never to forget when these events took place.
And who participated.
And 'today' those others,
With judgements upon them passed in laughter...
Could 'if' they wished choose to be just as ignorant.
But what difference would this make to do,
In the presence of the ones with a doing to prove?
What would be the benefit of it with a doing done,
If their slower paces and saddened faces etched...
Are obvious enough from a distance to witness.
'I pity the fool.' Mister 'T' once said.
However...
Those who had believed he was one too,
Were obviously not viewing life,
From his perspective.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fool is not known until he opens his mouth to speak. When he does he utters all kind of diverse things. Just like a babbling brook he runs and runs nonstop. A thoughtful write.