With death
I flirted
it shut its door
me it rejected
this it said:
more you must write
green is your heart still
brush melancholy aside
let your words fly
to the end of earth
let your prophetic words
all over be heard
I can wait as a friend
by you I will abide
to the very end
before you bid good-night
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem