Swinging incessantly from branches, hoping to return to a
carefree childhood without going through the tumultuous
grief that existed all through life and growing up.
Listening to whispers of the past, trying to remember when
they became important to intellect.
Lasting importance being faced when coming face to face
with death, having no choice in the end at last.
Strength waning in the face of eternal death, trying to
hold onto life and finding out at long last that it would
be impossible to do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem