It was not until the day you left
That my happiness died
Now I am a lonely
Man
I am to scared
To tell to myself
That sometimes
Things just don't work out
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well put Aldo, in fact, truth be told, more often then not they don't work out at all. I think it's called Life, though as old as I am I still have no answer why some loose so much that they need emotionally to survive, to have a reason to live....Material things don't count in the mix, they don't give hugs....Why do people leave us either by choice or by death, even by giving one away? Only God will answer that one.They say there's a reason for each hurt, each snub. Who knows? No one on earth that's for sure. mm.