Being expendable and we are, my mother
is frail and weak, as people are.
To know what is coming and still you let it come,
and less not more are willing.
Where are you, how did you get as you are,
your healthcare here may soon be gone.
Death is like sleep and yet you sleep without dreams.
On your knees in life when death knew not your name,
and rabbits run and ran a runner is.
Peaceful on your back knees bent the act you played,
a party is.
I dropped a moth ball in your mouth and went to sleep,
in between tomorrow, yesterday's has yet to come.
Do you want it on your feet or on your knees, says he,
the man who hides his hands because your me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem