Originally I wanted to use the little space of yesterday evening to try to write poetry. I haven't written refined text for a long time. But it can't be written a bit. Between the mundane customs, chasing troubles, there is no extravagant thinking about the luxury problems such as existence, no opportunity, wandering in the distance, forgetting the need to fight for gold every day, just in a small shop to see passers-by, you can A cup of coffee is served in the afternoon.

IS it the english translation or this artcel?