And the music-
The music is low and haunting,
Slow and melancholy,
Now soft, now loud.
The tempo quickens.
The pulse beats fast
And faster, and then-
It fades and ebbs
Only to swell again.
But then it fades...
And fades... and fades again,
Until at last it slows-
And dies.
Gone.
It's done.
A short, short, erratic song,
That stopped as soon as it begun.
And- like the music
The life of this child
Has faded and faded
Until, at last, it too
Is gone as swiftly as it began.
But his memory continues
In beautiful chords
Of music that is soft and low.
(October 12,2011)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem