Man's days are like those of a grass;
like a flower of the field he blossoms.
The wind sweeps over him and he is gone
and his place knows him no more.
Carried to a place unknown.
He moans and made a plea.
A stranger flower answered the call.
Be with me or fly continuously!
Either way your existence eternally soiled
to the soul, the essence
the spirit, of the heart of once a stranger flower.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem