When I'm a ghost, I'll be thin
As a period at the sentence end,
And thinner still; I'll have no form
But mostly be made up, of moan.
When I'm a ghost, my photo caught
By cam or camera, but seen naught;
Some slight disturbance of the air,
While most agree- there's nothing there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
At the end of a sentence thoughts grow thin, likewise the mind, at the end of life. Amazing though, is it not, how at the end of both the soul soars, on and on.