Past days are calling to me.
I strain to hear the call
but all the ensuing days I live
make it hard to remember it all.
I come closer to the memories
when I dream at night.
I travel back to my past times
and then they're in my sight.
I lose a lot of them when I wake
for my mind is focused on now.
But I know that I will find them again
somewhere, sometime, somehow.
And when I do I'll gather them close
and clasp them to my heart.
Will they stay with me again
or silently depart?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem