Youth, like the perianth
Its corollas degenerates
Its brightness fades
Time snatches its color
‘til it loses its odor
Though many are in make believe
That they are staying
In an infinite field
Of discos, nightlife and enjoyment
Til a strong wind hits
And in silence
will realize
Not to squander such stage.
They are the hope of the world
The wise men say
And what hope they can offer
If the world propagated them
The wrong soil
In an environment,
With no moral nourishment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem