There are some days, that when I look at my life
The days that have drifted by, piling up without care,
It seems as though I am still new to this world.
But we people are so used to conceiving the infinite,
That days number by without wear.
It is strange altogether to think that someday
All that will be left will be my lineage
If I am blessed with that gift at all.
And so I drift from place to place in this world
Wishing to somehow leave a stain:
A note to tomorrow
Lest I not be there again