Small children play on the beach
And collect colourful stones and sea shells
Without knowing these's usefulness
I do not know their purpose either
Yet they are happy
I am happy too looking at them
As if our only purpose is to be joyous and pass the time
Time has its own end so is ours
There is no other end except the inevitable ending
So what the qualm on purpose
Purpose is a by-product of greediness
If I knew this before
I would not allow seriousness to kill my delight
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem