I stare past the window, into the field,
My mind, lost in the sorrow of a time,
And the deride of yester years gone by,
My eyes pick a withering flower,
Held by a dying stalk,
I can imagine the smell of it's hey days,
Everything nice about youth;
The butterflies and the bees,
The showers and the rainbows,
Soft moist earth and clear blue sky,
The water pools and water lilies…
…our youth untouched.
…and now, in that fluttering breeze;
-the scorching sun,
In that background of seared grass,
-violated dusty earth,
Stuffy pollen grains flying in the wind,
From dried-off-falling petals,
I stop and tear and hurt,
When I imagine how it was
And how it will never be…
I stare past the window, into the field
My mind lost in the sorrow of a time!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The days of youth are great... Our life is great in what we afford and in what we make.