Going there was certainly to inspire hope
Of changing seasons, their new pleasures to cope.
But all I saw was a rock-strewn cliff
Made for suicides, hopefulness adrift.
I bent my toes over the ledge
And tears streamed down my craggy face.
What is the use of living in the rat race?
I fell upon two knees and howled lke the wind,
Which answered me, one of a kind.
When a choice is to be made,
The wise react first, then take it in.
The sullen relect in verse
And, often adverse, do nothing.
It was the time for action.
I was no poet from then on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Then you must have written this poem before that day found you. Outstanding write Stan. Gets a 10 vote from me