Some times when i can walk,
i hear them dance and they still talk
and i danced for your freedom,
and some wonder if i, am old
and weary torn and hearts of gold.
Some have danced with others,
and fell beside there brother,
sister how you know,
Two can dance that one last dance,
which one leaves to take i pray, amen.
Quite walks, and how i quake each night,
and this is how my youth, i spent too grow
and i,
danced with freedom please, sweet sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
‘…quake each night, and this is how my youth, i spent too grow and i, danced with freedom please, sweet sleep. ‘ End-point of titration in imagination. Well done Sir Ten++ niv Please grace with your comments &c to my posts [new too] niv