How can time justify it's brazen desire
When it's obtuse wheels spin less and less dreams?
The callow youth knows more than aged mans mire
For in his heart there is no doubt the means.
Ideal lowered is a life's wasted lamp
It's sickly glow a waning spirit lights,
Burnt low it lies in feeble dull encamp
Crushed before the unfold days cruel sights.
But youth stands bold before the wind so will
Change many times to mock it's many cants.
For youth uses change with an easy skill
While ages mind creaks along and rants:
'Where did my dreams go wrong? ' For wrong they went,
And dreams abandoned will never relent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem