When the moon speaks to silence stars,
I hear its advice.
Dead and cold and unconcerned,
it lives on until eternity ends.
But men are not like moons.
When the man speaks to silence men,
too often the wisdom is foolishness.
It dies with the sunset.
Sunrise watches the retreating moon.
Each know the rules.
"Good bye for I can never reach you.
The tide is waiting, I have a job to do."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem