growing old with you would be a dream come true
we could walk hand in hand under a starry sky
together we could sail across the ocean blue
we could walk hand in hand on a sandy beach
when autumn arrives we would admire the season
and walk hand in hand happily enjoying the color
we would be happy and always have the best time
and we would never have to say a single word
cause by then I would be able to read your mind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A lovely poem. I can tell you from experience, though, that growing old is no fun... ... but I guess it beats the alternative.