In the spring of my life
I stood to please
shaking life from every vein...
internal slicing of the vein
that bred my ever deepn'n pain
IN Summer tho, amour la vie
c'etait a' toujours a il voudrait
What could I say, among the green
leaves and wasps nests yet unseen.
Winter reared it's ugly head, bald and white, the skull had shed
the youth of twilights amber tone,
charistmatic salesman, all alone.
In your poem dad, a prediction akin
to truth, perhaps, to 2010.
Sadder though, prophetic Richard corey...
hindsight though... your end of life story.
"I faced a blizzard with a grin,
heroic last lines for a man who failed to win.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem