While standing waiting watching water,
Islands wait for bold explorers.
Worlds away they sit in slumber,
To kiss and kill the wicked daggers
Of men, who try to lay their flags there.
But go, you bold explorers, Go!
Of an ounce of love and ton of sorrow
Yes, ‘tis true it hurts tomorrow,
But, sitting still hurts more
Then standing up to death.
Within these words there’s no regret.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a philosophical poem with a philosophy worth discussing. So, I recommend it as reading. GW62