First, talk to me
of ordinary things
of morning walks
time smoothed rocks
and trees with green forever.
Then, tell me why
all things die
of age or time
some in their prime
and most without true meaning.
Don't misunderstand
I'm not feeling sad
just a bit lost inside.
If it's ok, I'd like to hide
in your arms
if only for a moment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem