Jumping into memories of joy, leaving nothing to chance,
because life is one giant picture puzzle that's always
changing daily.
Conquering measures that cannot help but keep hold of
every note being played, that lonely cold whistle now
hanging in the atmosphere.
Letting nothing get in between measures and rhythms,
moving right along as rhythms quicken their pace even
faster.
Gathering people like leaves with rakes in the fall,
scattering winds blowing them all over this mind in
orders of colorful treasures.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem