Tiptoeing through fields and meadows of fantasy,
keeping track of where I'm going, never lost no
matter what, because sense of direction is fine.
Seeing shooting stars above as I walk into the
twilight, seeing their beauty strike like lighten-
ing, sparkle and then dying in the darkness of a
fading life that belongs only to them at moment
in time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem