You know, we're all guilty of crimes,
Some hidden like skeletal ghosts
In the closets of past Februaries,
Some big and bold and even beautiful,
Growing larger until we're blinded
Some crimes right, some wrong,
Some meaning everything, or nothing at all
Sometimes you break a heart,
Sometimes you ruin a life,
But if they aren't yours, I guess you'll survive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem