I know I'm the one doing the writing
And this, alone, baffles me so.
How do these words get into my head
Without ever letting me know?
I only know that they are there
When they ask to be let out.
From where they came, I do not know.
That's the thing I'm so concerned about.
While I'm having all this writing fun,
I can't help worrying about some poor one
Whose words I'm using up.
Because some day, somewhere,
Some mouth may open
And nothing will come out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem