Give me your tears
I will dry your fears
The death has visited the home
And leaves orphans in loan
Broken the stool
Crashed the skull that once stood
Broken
Taken
The stone on which we dine
Bared the weakness of vine
Wind has blown and gone
Done
Gone too soon
Always here cheered till noon
Now here you laid
With branded name 'the late'
O death you know not young smile
How blindly you smite
Glory of kings you blur
Empire of queens you clear
Hmm... A tree is cut from root and fruit
Face bruised
My heart griefs a bereave very long
An old song
So I cry but bit I keep my word
Beloved prepare a place to experiment
For one day my experience
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem