Withering, 'neath the eye of the flame in the sky;
aesthetically pleasing to the damsel's walking on by-
many years ago...though to him just moments in Mind.
The addiction takes logic and danger away,
and I wonder if the color was worth every golden shade-
that faded with his life, prematurely and ashen gray.
Some came to pay their respects and to see
the damage this young man incurred by the sea,
in his voyage aborted by stale vanity;
most people just came out of curiosity.
~FjR~
MMXVI
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem