Never mine to hold,
it soon ran its course;
faded and disappeared
without so much as a word.
Youth made passage
with little ceremony;
caught me off guard
how hard it would be to let go.
Memories of other Springs
other warm Summer days
still have a life of their own,
but the young girl
that lived them is gone.
It's now Autumn
that rests here in my eyes,
and winter waits
not too far behind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem