I have a love who's as old as my self.
She cannot die as long as I'm not dead.
She so likes being burdened by my name.
She publishes my flesh and blood till it's all gone.
She hawks outdated news of me around the world
And blindly sorts the lines I never understood.
I have a love, she's always in danger
And can only leave when I don't know the way.
The road that we are on, we roll it slowly up
Into a stone. We'll lay it one day on our grave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poem is deep, deep, deep! Thanks for sharing, Leonard!