You know all that you think you know,
So does the entire world.
It will differ from day to day,
Sometimes you won't get your way.
Me, I am forever confused,
I never did know what I felt.
Every time I should be glad,
I think it is jealousy.
Ironic that you come along,
Must you tell me what I feel?
How can you know much more that I,
If all that is known is what we think we know?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem