The poem at the end of the day
Is a tired poem
It has no enthusiasm within or for itself
It is so weak and so weary
It does not know if it should exist
But here it is
Asserting itself
Quietly desperately
As so much at the end is sunken by sadness
The poem at the end of the day
Wants to sleep soon
And soon it will be where no one knows it exists
Which may be better for it and
for everyone else.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem