Everything is going
in its burning on flame,
like the string is glowing
never quite the same.
Like heartbeats inside
that tick tack on and on,
memories they'll hide
in everything that's gone.
Dreams go by and by
giving and much waking,
like fresh summer sky
that beauty is making.
All the years left here
we will never see more,
those days everywhere
gone to another shore.
Times of times burning
in emptiness of days,
gone hours not returning
filing recollections ways.
Like our existence all goes
into the time oblivion,
we're like wick that glows
until its flame is gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem