A task awaits us in the morning,
Pulling my leg and arm for five years.
The days and nights pass for the same task,
Yet these years, we experience a more important ghost.
The tasks are gained by the brain,
And to this are exhortations.
We have goals to achieve, fright to decline,
But when do the flowers of the garden grow
With brains of humans?
The morning needed us when it expressed itself
And made appearances.
The task of the garden is unique.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem