Youth and it's melody,
Moving as the wind they dance and play.
Her beauty and his grace their claim to fame,
And their candle it burns hot for them today.
Would that if I could with her again,
And knowing what would come it could not change.
Moving through tall grass though it is green,
I cannot cut.
Learning how to read the notes before I wrote
Them down and music's made.
Can a situation ever change all ask themselves,
As what one has composed begins to leave an empty space.
All the pain one's ever felt in just one day,
To leave the rest for love the highest note one's ever felt.
The beauty of their youth and of their soul is music made,
Just her eyes and what they say though I be blind.
And the melody of youth is made of magic that all feel,
His bag is full of oats,
Her roses in the vase cannot resist the hands of time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem