What was left of me had gathered on a thin blade of grass,
Gripping tightly to its edges, as the gentle harsh winds pass,
Almost certain to have much promise, to a plant that's reaching high,
While oblivious of the nature , to the changing state that matter lies,
It was slowly I got lighter, and lighter of weight,
Then eventually, gone.....to an unreachable gaseous state.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem