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Why does life have a way of shrinking a man
Why age-wrinkled necks look like turtle skin
Why spend so much time in memory land
Why what makes things stand out so often…
Is the sameness within
Why happiness can be so arduously earned
Yet sadness so freely given
Why the wind thumps the side
of tents at night…As if wishing
to be allowed within
Why faces in portraits seem
To follow one about…
While visages in old photographs
Seem to beg
for remembrance
Why some expressions
In their open emotions
Leave no doubt…
And others plainly proffer
Neither pain
nor penance
Why do we find life
…So inscrutably curious…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem