Put
on your
walking boots
the ones with the
old frayed laces,
So I can take my grief
where harsh wind whines and rages,
tearing across desolate hills.
I shall lean myself on your shoulder.
Say nothing, let me sob into the rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sometimes all we need is a companion who stays besides us and just listens. Nice poem.