Which eyes knew mine, or would have known
If we had lived our lives less distant,
A mystery now deeper grown
From days when birthplace was persistent.
The names who held a place in town
For all their new and old descendants,
You'd recognize them from their frown-
Or smile as well; the genes dependent.
Faces too, with names displaced
Would still retain their rightful home,
And though your memory might disgrace;
With time and seeing, could bestow.
It makes our lives a thing less human:
We know forgetful death is looming.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem