Up the highest mountain the man went looking for his soul,
down he looked around shaking off the frosty cold.
Gazing across skies paited deep crimson red
taking heavy breath which seemed to fill his lungs like lead.
And as he felt the weight inside of what he did not know,
He wondered if his search would lead him way back down below,
He took another look around as if to check and see
was his soul hiding near as shy as coy could be?
So down the mountain the man did go, too tired to look up
He met the warm, soft ground below,
His soul had called his bluff.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem