Winter's day has seen its last,
The clocks are winding down,
O're the hills a shadow's cast,
Lamenting; the lonely sound.
Desolation again and again,
The chair it rocks the seconds,
Gazing through a dirty pane,
Upon emptiness that beckons.
Counting years, long foregone,
Empty home's, a living tomb,
Distant friends, all passed on,
Daylight; moves room to room.
A tear dried track upon the cheek,
Fond memories burn the mind,
Once youth, now feeble and weak,
All things; must pass with time.
Darkness falls gently o're the land,
A cold body embraced by the bed,
Hourglass empty's, last grain of sand,
Opened book, will lie unread.
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,
A calm settles through the home,
Even new metal shall turn to rust,
Our demise we must face alone.
Choose; this day, with whom you wish to be,
Choose wisely of now, through your eternity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem