Oh, woe to us whom must always fall
To ground so low from heights so tall.
Our life cycles in one big path
From sky, to earth, to sky, to earth.
We're rose to the highest portions of the sky,
to places where not even the hawks will fly.
Only to be cast down toward the ground.
Spinning, falling, faster, faster...
To be smashed once we reach our rest.
Only to be reassembled, and broken again.
Oh, woe is the life of rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really like this one... just the way the rain's described, how it must fall from the highest point in the sky just to shatter on the ground in the end, always part of that never-ending cycle... Great poem =)