Sitting in the still morning air, watching cantankerous puffs
of wind blow every once in a while.
Daydreaming in another dimension, far away.
Suddenly brought back to the present by tears pouring down my
face, a sadness that wants it's place.
Thinking through the flow, a thought pops up from the toaster
of insight - I'm not bad, why do others think it so?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem