Sitting on a faded couch, I hug my cup of tea
It's slowly getting colder out and no one's here with me
Filling up my head again with useless inquiry
We're biting down on sour apples, biding all our time
Counting up experience and trying to make it rhyme
You really shouldn't complain, I hear, It's really not so bad
Don't you have so many things that others never had?
Oh, but we shouldn't smile so much today, it's really not that good
Don't you also know the rich own things our family never could?
The dust that sets, the fighter jets, the winds and ocean rise
Charring roots, muddy boots, and futile compromise
Half an hour left till autumn's wintry flawless theft
Noticing a newborn name while mourning the bereft
Seamless cycles summersault so soon since Spring's pale sigh
One thing, next, unto another, hopelessly passed by
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem