In the middle of life
What was known
Becomes a distant point on a fading horizon
The traveled road splits
Into legions of forks
And trees cast deepening shadows
The hymns sung by small churches
Fade like ill-kept memories
Falling leaves drift aimlessly through the sky
Carried by the wind
That sings its own hymns
Mocking the sacred songs of long ago
The falling leaves
Rest upon the earth
Thinking that their resurrection
Can’t be too far away
In the middle of life
What was known
Flies from the heart and soul
As a bird, migrating
To a newer home.
The cold wind howls louder
The winter comes nearer
Seeping under doors and through cracked windows
And the wind loudly sings
Its unwelcome hymn.
Proclaiming the dying
Of the fire.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem