The path is striate but long and narrow; the birds sing their summer song of peace. The children laugh and play, the sun forever shines, the thorns rip and tear at my clothing and hair. I try to push them away but they steal scratch and tear, I have been walking it seems forever down a path that never ends, but one day when I am tired I well reach the end of my path and start a new.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem