Times are passing from new to old
And giving some spaces between
Songs of the hours you cannot hold
Anything goes that was seen
Filling the air with its manifold:
What it is and then becomes
Life as it is with assorted ways
Molded into faces of memories
Periods and reigns in many plays
Roots and branches of growing trees
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem