A belief still lingers
over the desolated life,
that a day may come
to carry the forsaken dale
from its numbness
to the isles of love,
to a blossoming valley
of dreams and hopes.
Days are numberless,
cascading like leaves,
gaping for life,
until the bells toll,
until the clock dies into its final tick
until the last breath settles
into the grave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem