Within wisdom is the ability to know,
We certainly task ourselves in solitude,
Then obliterate the murder of our youth,
And creep back to the road of contentment.
We are artists of the young nature,
Paths lead to the end of the day,
Thinking big thoughts of the hardness
This day brings of the city.
The night is entertaining for this sight,
Explaining thoughts that differ,
Creeping back are the deeds of day
And night, deeds of the young sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem