With tears i write this haltingly
i cannot see i cannot breathe
while those that are born of my seed
are far from me.
I want to touch i want to see
the hands the hair the honesties
that unlike flickered memories last
moths in a flame and floating past
are hosts and hosts of glorious gold
the tales the sights the thoughts untold
the did you did i stories when
you hold onto the moments then
you smile and laugh and closely say
i am happy that you are that way.
With grief i write this haltingly
i cannot cry i cannot feel
while those that are born of my seed
are not with me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem