Dancing quickly into the distance of another remark being made
along highways of yesterday.
Only tread marks of another era are standing in avenues and on
borders, looking over particles being left on the side of train
tracks, not able to be picked up or left on the side lines of
time and prayerful energies.
Left in another consequence, sometime in a lasting memory that
has long since been forgotten, leaving no reminders to be set
to music.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good writing, thanks.