I turn the pages he had turned,
I flip from front to back.
When his heart was deeply concerned
These pages lined the track.
I read the words that he had read,
I ponder as he once did.
The words linger inside my head,
The truth cannot be hid.
I hold in hand the book he held,
His printed name makes me proud.
And suddenly I feel compelled
To speak his name aloud.
I share the name his father gave,
Which my father passed to me,
And I'll take that name to the grave
And wear it graciously.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem