Nothing here shall ever forget
How flowers rot, from underneath,
And fruit, when only pierced the skin,
To the circling wasp's bequeathed.
Nothing here will gain a thing,
Though time reversed or stood it's place;
A thousand years still looks the same,
But first to go is always the face.
Man makes his dreary circlet of days,
Ever brief, though filled with fate-
And flings open wide Pandora's box,
Hoping somehow his soul will escape.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, Patti, one of your many very good ones. Some people ignore the soul Some people think the soul will die with the body Some people hope the soul will escape Some people know the soul does not age.