Fine ceramics now hide your gaze;
Where is the face that I knew so well,
When as children, our spirits dwelled together?
Misty lines can blur the past;
Once you were here, but you're gone forever-
Gone where else, but in this vase?
You left too soon, but in my dreams
I keep searching all around;
I search every slab of unhallowed ground.
Is this all that's to be left of you-
For jolly time makes jokers of us all;
Nothing here lasts, not even poor clay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nothing here lasts but to change to dust and maybe put it in a jar sadly that's life and the parts real are nothing the soul is the staff..thoughtful read...regards