When I am besieged with despair and reprove,
Because can't stop fatal disaster,
I enter a blue trolley bus at his move -
That's here by chance and the last one.
Oh, bus of midnight, speed along sleeping streets,
Fill them with your endless rotation
To pick up all people whose lives, like poor ships,
Were wrecked by the fatal occasions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem