I last saw my father
when he was at Deaths’ Door
his pomp and pageantry and pride
all gone,
his body racked by incurable disease,
full of remorse,
dying.
As his life was ebbing away,
his condemned soul
was pleading with death
to give him a chance,
another chance,
to turn back time,
right the wrongs
of the past
and start again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sadly, many find time has left them with nothing but regrets...Time well spent is that which tick - tocks with love.... Ever fleeting the opportunity to steal a moment, and say the words we all wish were spoken. Clinging to a last chance confession of being sorrow for wasted time, death comes and therein dies the chance to make amends. Thank you for the honesty of this poem...PEACE