Sometimes, when I go for a walk,
Along the path to the river side;
Buds open up into majestic flowers,
And a golden ray shows up as a guide;
I trust the ray and walk on and on,
Till I reach the bed of moist sands;
Where dew drops rest in peace and
I collect some with the cup of my hands;
They melt away and make a trickle,
That runs down my hands and fall;
To vanish in sands like my life will,
Someday, ending my morning stroll.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem