Of all the goodness that has touched my days
Very little of its form has stayed
But some trace of its residual within my soul
Defies this process of my growing old
And when my body can not push the ink you read
When my greed is eternally still
Goodness at least attempted here
Will in the madness of our sphere
Tinkle a lttle in the daily wind
As if its form had stayed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A poem of humility and grace. Only a good soul could have penned it. Your friend at poemhunter, Sandra