Days are for living, for crying
to be happy in
and far too quickly
they pass us, with years
churning away
and sometimes we try to linger in
laughter, fun and joy
and eventually everything is just a ploy
while we wait for the reckoning
and our bodies start to wither away
as if waiting on the final days
things start to become rundown
and the ambulance, the doctor
and the minister do their last thing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem