Dust of the dust, of a little child,
Who wished on the stars, and his heart was pure;
Dust of his hands, once folded in yours:
Dust blows away, but the love endures.
Lifeless the clay, that once breathed with life;
Orphaned the years, to an endless pain,
Lifeless the eyes, as their bright light wained:
Lifeless as he went away, again.
Ghostly the vision, of what’s been lost,
It came and went in an endless dream;
Ghostly the memories, and what they mean:
Ghostly the world- only dust remains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem