All I did was read a lot -
or maybe not
but look at my books
and bid my looks
not betray
my miserly ways.
They'll live, I trust,
after I am dust;
their words will last,
a living link to the past,
and to the one
who would have been undone
if he could not have them
and carefully shelve them
in his library, and enter them
in his catalog for the interim.
Then one of these days
when Time has its way,
may they survive,
for while they're alive
I too shall live,
and through their pages give
my message
and my blessings
to those I love even more than these
I could not leave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem