Hills rolling in through the clouds.
I played here when I was a boy.
Green grass and a creek running loud.
The seeds and the twigs were my toys.
I am older now and grey.
I remember those days very clearly.
Minutes became hours, then days.
My memories I treasure so dearly.
I will pass in the years to come.
These hills will remain always near.
My life so far is the sum.
The next generations will play here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a nice poem, Brook R. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.