i beg to tell you
my dear fellow human beings,
that after all those years
of loving,
time that makes us all nothing
but wrinkles,
seasons that with indifference
change,
flesh that turn to ashes,
bones that disappear,
glossiness that turn
into a rough surface,
i hate to tell you this,
before my death,
love is still, and will always be,
a word.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem