Learning to give,
and learning to try
Learning to live,
and learning to cry
Learning to see, through the eyes
of brother Death’s forsaken spies
When I saw you walking down the street,
chances were good we’d find nothing to eat
Paradise lost, in some western town,
with folded hands, laughing like a clown
The poet gets nailed to the sailor’s floor,
once and for all, he is not a bore
Learning to sail across empty skies,
learning to fly, learning to fly
Like an albatros
And then I’m falling down
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem