Patterns falling and lifting into special etudes,
being recognized from daily stances in life.
Becoming the essence of intense passions as they
ooze from petals fallen from many bouquets of
flowers.
Rising to denizens of past rhythms, no longer
able to be a part of any of them.
Lasting memories being torn asunder as life
continues to become itself in bluened pathways of
past youth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem