When young, I didn't know what anxiety was and liked to go to the top of towers for sightseeing. For writing new poems, I forced myself to feel like distressed then. Now, I have it to the full and want to pour it out, but keep silent at last, keep silent at last, just say it is a cool and fine autumn.
Walking up a floor after another as he likes to the top, a lad grumbles
about worries he never has come across but just for the sake of writing a
poem out of them.
Knowing well as time goes by what worries are all about , he hesitates to talk about them, and again he refrains to, and turns to praise the pleasantly
cool weather of the Autumn.
When I was young and had no sense of worries, wanting to escalate for excellence; wanted to escalate for excellence, to create new phrases to express sadness.
Now that I experienced all the sorrows, wishing to speak of it but ceasing; wished to speak of it but ceased, I rather speak of the cool breeze in Autumn so fair.
The youth does not know worries the taste, loves the upper formation building; Loves the upper formation building, to bestow on the new word to say worried.
At the present knows worries the taste, wanted saying that also rested; Wanted to say also rests, actually said the day cool good fall.