Sometimes you don't think,
and leave everything out on show
until a couple of shrill whispers
bring you to your senses.
You pack your things away
And wonder what's the point of going that way
When you're going further from where
You have to go back to
To do what you won't want to do
When you get there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem