He’s there
Seen by those who pass
Except, Never
In actual fact
Found
Pleased—
His mind stores the past
With a pile of neglected old school books
He doesn’t know
Where he is
Nor, Does
He heed
For there’s no more studying, to be done
Where there’s flowers
There’s bees
Despite the stingers
They have honey to be tasted
Those flowers, will always bring bees
Yet, they are the only thing to cleave to
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Interesting...convoluted, myriad paths to walk with sight.xxElysabeth