It looks so simple -
To find and to set all the words.
But pitiful - this action's more random.
And more painful...
And the paper is lying -
Not in a living, or dead state, though,
As if it is aware
Of your touch and show.
But it exists somewhere,
at least,
That the only order,
Unexplainable and
Genius,
Of the common notes,
Of the usual words.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem