There are innumerable snowflakes in the night sky,
Yet not one resembles the other.
There are innumerable grains of salt on the ground,
There are innumerable petals from the flower.
Why is it then, that man tries to be different,
By imitating the actions of another man?
Why is that man wants to be unique,
By repainting his own shells?
Everyone that walks this ground,
Is someone of their own.
Everyone that walks this ground,
Is a wolf lone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem