In this civilized nation
golden are the days of the young people
who dwindle in dark days of fortune.
like a bairn,yet so agile, they nimble straight
In this country, where treasure swims with the streams,
and with disregard the youth perishes.
Though we should heed the warnings, yet,
we so ignorant. The streets,cars and humankind, so
savage that the young shrivels swiftly in the wrinkleness
In coffins, they come in numbers
like rain drops. So isolated, yet somewhere,they
They speak of tongues, but not of human nature.
It is fortune that matters between the dead and the living.
yet,no one is free.
But, how can i write of fortune if,
I am not certain?