The day breaks over the trees, beyond the lake below.
Of pain or joy? What shall it be? Can I ever know?
Like time itself the sun will rise with the speed of eternal light.
I face this changing wisp of time the choice of my own plight.
Shall I, with pain, reflect upon the things that have come my way?
Shall misery fall upon itself in heaps of my own decay?
Shall tears my eyes be filled with, as I morn another time.
Give way, will I, to death, despair cease my endeavor to climb.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem