Weary, sometimes I get so weary.
I lay myself right down.
I wonder why I get weary?
The feeling makes me frown.
I just don'; t like it.
It makes me mad.
I take for granted
that what I had
should not be missing now.
And yet I sense somehow
that all the living I have done
has made me tired. It's like a ton,
a heavy, heavy weight I feel
that challenges me to take a rest
and challenges me to do what's best
and stop worrying about
getting weary.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem