How old were we? Eight, ten or so?
I seem the fearful one - you glow,
All bounce and boyisch confidence,
Which looking back now makes no sense.
I haven't changed that much - and yes,
I hurt too easily I guess,
Though mostly now the tears I shed
Are proxy tears, for you, long dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem