I know not when this sun will set;
Yet I must make more hay,
I know not if I would reach
The zenith of this mountain
Yet I climb with ruggedness;
This river flows ceaselessly
From an uncertain source
Yet I must cleanse myself with it
Maybe this sun will shine brighter
And kiss the maternal moon.
So it is that I climb this palm tree
Waiting for it to fall
By an array of thunderstorm
Yet hopefully hopeless
That the next sun may shine brighter.