Portraits of inner sadness float out into the open so we may
watch and see what it is we are thinking so carefully about.
Realizing the single purpose of our crying, we begin
remembering close friends, now gone to death's distant shores.
Thinking of them, things we've done together, times we've
shared, becoming thoughtful more often as we grow older.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem