As I wrote
Comfortable in my armchair,
I searched for memories I could not find,
For to remind ourselves of souvenirs
We must make them.
I did not make any.
As I wrote
Comfortable in my armchair,
I realise I have no memories
For my mind was empty of anything,
I have not done a thing.
I have not lived.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem