
On a hot summer day.
Climbing the steep steps
to the old temple.
I think to myself.
The years have not been wasted.
And there are still eyes
I have to look into.
To know something
of how to walk that final path.

On a hot summer day.
Climbing the steep steps
to the old temple.
I think to myself.
The years have not been wasted.
And there are still eyes
I have to look into.
To know something
of how to walk that final path.