Sickness, looming death, defeat.
Playing and laughing, shoving and smacking.
Driving and hanging around, not a care in the world.
Moved away, what's next? Who is to say.
Children are grown up, oh how the years have passed.
It's all come to soon, as I lay here in my hospital bed.
The room full of sorrow and remorse.
As the smell of dirt over powers me.
Weird how it all ends the same way it starts.
Alone, tired, and unable to speak or walk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem