For if I die young
I grow not old and bald and cold
and youth is swift to pass
An errant daydream that will not last
to jest is to laugh
For life is such a ghastly farce
The die is cast
The mould is set
The shadows turn upon my life
And with deep regret
I plunge the knife
Further in it goes
To my body it screams death
blood gushes forth and flows
IT knows only it can know
The pain it's left behind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem