My son, I've talked about you
for the fourteenth thousand time.
I remind myself for certain
that you truly are a son of mine.
I miss you as I am missing
many days of old.
In many different ways, I'm told,
this life is cruel but time repairs.
I often go to the wall and stare.
As we once did.
Little spectacles I make,
with my wiggling fingers in the air.
And I wish that you were there with me.
To soothe such a missing love.
As I for you, my long lost boy.
My little emerald in the forest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem