There is a time for our seeing
In our worthwhile to remember
Every inside of our being
Like those footsteps in red-ember
Clearly not for everyone
Are the times to become real?
Letting our bygones be bygone
In the ways we lose and feel
Swinging times to do and say
What is turning here out to be?
In its clutched on to and play
For everything that we can't see
Hit the ground and be dead
Is the way to go here around?
Someone else lies there instead
Giving of his own state and mound
There are rifles to get fired
When the banks have their carnival
And the poor ones aren't desired
They´ll take their stand and fall
Let me though know if still's hope
To come our way and give aloft
And can we hold on to that robe
Though it might be from love soft
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem