Music playing in this mind, taking rhythms into sorrowful
places, being hidden within each of us.
Taking us figuratively and absently into the very founda-
tions of grief and forgetfulness of our life's purposes.
Allowing only a flood of tears to continue to flow,
covering us with it's blanket of penetrating coverlets
and wetting our pillows with them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem