We always praise
The first star of the evening,
And usually not
The second light of the night,
And never ever,
Let alone notice,
The last beam in the dead of the night.
I'm the last to shine,
And first to die,
A transient joy,
A passing love,
Or a fleeting wish,
That no child sees,
No man knows,
And no one cares.
My life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very humble, Hiroshi..
Thank you, Douglas. When I write a poem, I'm very often a melancholy guy. I'm not such a person in my daily life. I feel as if I were depressed just while writing. It's kind of a mystery in my life.