There is no attention,
Sweeter then distraction.
No status more noble
Then idleness-
At the end of a day.
A man is freest
In his thought-
Head resting
Upon white pillows,
Heart sleeping
In scarlet dreams.
There is no treasure
Greater then memories-
Just as an astronomer gazes
Upward to prospect the sky-
So must we gaze into
Our choices, and prospect
Ourselves.
This is the purpose of idleness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem