Younger than the morrow,
Too grown to be a man;
Clothed like a rainbow,
Pride ruined the plan.
This is the sign,
It had lingered-
Now all is on the line.
The days spent in newness
Being attacked
By the voice of the conscience.
If these moments hold,
Another door would be shut;
Like a story told,
Its pictures would never rot.
Debts in the morning
Threats in the day;
Surely it is coming-
Justice as we wait.
No distance far as guilt;
In arrogance,
Excuses are built.
No pity for the fallen
Because every weakness
Actually gave its warning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great poem, like it.