Oh early years of long, long-ago time,
When I would see the world through child-like eyes
And he and I would roam about and climb
The apple trees below the sunlit skies,
Exactly when did you come to an end?
I miss those days, it hurts my very core
And I, with love, remember them and tend
To them, that they may live forever more
As memories, within this frame of mine.
But time for me is coming to a close
And these memories will no longer shine,
Becoming like a withered faded rose.
So I will write them down and set them free,
And they'll outlive my life and speak for me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem