I never touched my mother's hand
When she was cold and dead-
Yet knowing it the coldest thing
On earth, filled me with dread.
I never looked my fathers eyes
Where, on his deathbed lay-
And yet, they said his smile was such
To light the end of day.
I'll never see my cold remains;
I will not feel the fear-
Yet there are others, still with eyes-
The sight of it would sear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful but sad - great poem.