On a fine morning,
Trudging along the road, snowy and shiny,
I feel afresh and anew,
That I can do it.
Yes, I can.
At dusk,
Coming back home on the road, icy and muddy,
I feel dead and tired and cold,
That nothing ain't done at all,
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem