Have I got nothing to do?
The smooth thought of going blue?
or is it the mighty sure-made-of-the class
during October soothe that took off the oath out of duke?
I have no idea, still I'm relieved that i made it thorough
although September is quite near...
still it seems the same to me, does it not?
who am I to say it does?
i guess I'm just made of what others compaction's thing of me
the mere idea of a sweet color
the quote states what matter can be, not what matter is,
though it seems the same to me, still it is not?
who can
and cannot,
explain to me I wish!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem