Those times were good
Carrying me to youth and vigor,
But then I awoke-
(an unlucky stroke)
Where I discovered
that my youth and vigor had just slivered.
I got out of bed,
I guess,
as thought practicing for 'dead',
No longer coming up roses,
Good Times deceased
No longer 'youth's' release
As I returned to my real world of less clover.
Funny, I mused, how in the dream I so was alive
Where now I seemed hobbled
as fortune‘s-bauble,
Yet, no more do I wish to score another dream
I'd rather be awake
to view the rest of my life-
No matter how now raw-boned and cobbled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem