Some days seem to sprint on by
As if too eager, to catch the night.
Some days are slow as languid birds
That float the skies, though scarcely heard.
Some words go out, to return again
To bring us laughter, and sometimes friends.
Thank god all the beauty hasn't been said
So we can look, and watch it spread.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem