Few things are never dead and gone
For every thought makes it reborn
Dead is to the form that was in existence
Not to the deeds left behind in abundance
The smile is the name of the man
To him I was the great fan
The miles he has taken to an unknown shore
Still could not make me stop to adore
The real smiles that were spread
Instills tears as I lay in my bed
He is dead and now a bygone
But had not let me ever frown
Could he ever be dead?
As I find his hand on mine in sleep
He is filled in my every dream
He is my dad who is never gone
Everyday has his thought reborn
It would have been a death to his form
But not to the spirit and reform
He left behind his prayers and love
He is standing next to me as I grow
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem