Honour - Poetry
Because I was young
I wanted it so much.
Because when you grow up
you throw away what you get.
What I got,
is no longer what I longed for.
What I long for,
is something I have not yet obtained.
The medal is just a pleasant wind,
The gold cup is just a gentle rain.
Constant trekking is the sun.
It shines forever
The land of the soul.