I wrote a poem today
But it is not the one
I feel an emptiness to say
Like a wounded song
Held so long
Knowing it's bound to go along
Unsung
Still wonder what it would feel
To be held for always
With a loving touch
If only it were real
Life so fleeting and in rush
Loneliness has a lonesome echo
Some days I feel it more
Lest bound to ever it much
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem