before I died I met four angels
most men find only one or two
and even though they fly away
one moments grace is rare indeed
one I knew from wintry moods
as beautiful as lace and snow
and she was everything to me
and yet each season passes on
another came with spring and roses
but petal by petal a rose must fade
angels know their destiny
they must seek out infinity
one would seek the heat of summer
languid and lavishing in the sun
but autumn brings the falling leaves
till every tree is stripped and bare
the fourth ignored the season's call
more like a cloudless meteor
she was so filled with fire and dreams
she could not stop to land on earth
and so all angels come and go
no man can really own the wind
and in the end the things we know
are so much less than we pretend
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem