Solemnly tinkering with idle thoughts today,
thinking to mend the future with the present.
A voracious appetite for learning anything
that comes in view causes problems, because
others think I should be doing something.
What good is talent if it cannot be developed,
what use is a mind if one cannot use it?
What use have we, as we're led astray to forage
in commonplace pastures of already known
knowledge?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem