There's not much time left now
And I'm still wandering about
Wondering just when and how
A silence that shouts
Meaning, all that's endearing
Appears to be the sole reason
I've chosen to keep living
For if in the change of seasons
I've helped organize one leaf
Aided an insect back up a tree
Then maybe my suffering
Meant something
To someone or some thing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem