We try to seize freedom like we reach for the sky
It washes over us like a storm but leaves us dry
Illusive as a fish in a clear stream
Reaching for it one only grabs a dream
Love is made of a bar of gold
You may only hold it if a child or old
Others try to buy or sell it I'm told
But its sister Passion is the one that can be sold
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem