You were the perfect offering:
You wrote,
You sang,
You played,
Did anything,
But now -
Are there any cracks or crevices,
Windows, holes or doors;
Has the pine split below?
With the leafs gone,
Under a Supermoon or blazing sun,
Does the light get in,
Or was it just
Another lyrical song?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another haunting and contemplative piece, leaving the reader with questions that are intriguing to ponder.