He looked nostalgic when picking up a pen,
And that's what you did to this powerless man.
Your voice from the far, your scent when you were near,
Your motionless figure that denoised the day
Flickered in his words, could or could not you hear,
But still were they leaving, quiet and away.
A powerless man until he waxed nostalgic, picking up a pen and writing quietly into the day. Lovely poem. Thank you for sharing it. RoseAnn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely written, Zhe Wang. Thanks