Oh, masters, don’t be sad
Brother, sister, mom and dad
This place is bright, this table is cold
I ache all over, seventeen years old
It hurts to move, it hurts to breathe
But I feel better that my masters won’t leave
I wish to snuggle and lick their tears
I wish to take on all their fears
I look at them, I love them so much
“Please love me, ” I beg their touch
The doctor pokes me through my skin
A last breath then darkness enters in
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem