the wind is blowing
pushing time
it never can stand still
it runs its endless race with ease
it rushes on until-
eyes once bright
now dim with age
and youthful romances
quickly fade
and mem'ries of a summer night
holding close a lover tight
have slipped away
like quiet tears,
brim the pool
formed over years
of life
(and like the notes of song)
is rushing, changing, fading,
gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice. I like your style of rhythm and rhyme, something oft times missing on these many pages of prose-type 'poetry'