The wind passes through the trees,
And they all sway with the breeze
Losing their green,
Beginning a brand new scene.
Distant memories fade away
To make room for the bleak today
Reality fills the void
with soft particles of white,
And in my head I hear the soft echo of:
“Everything’s going to be alright.”
They day is cold
And growing old
Soon to die and
make way for another day.
Change is here and everyday,
But I don’t want to go
For tomorrow is the day that I grow
old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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