I know a man without fame.
Who just keeps moving.
The stage in his head.
One of words and solitude.
His future, like rainbows
can never be reached.
He says, with each step,
a winter wind blows.
With each step,
a spring flower blooms.
With each step,
a thousand new directions.
And as long as he puts his
passion to the world.
Everything in life is useful.