A life is lost on narrow and straight,
A life left too long, a life left too late.
Gunshots echo in the head of the dead,
Forever lasting in the wounded's head.
The unknown is clear, for death there is no need,
For the will of the man is the son's final deed.
A life is wasted and no-one could care less,
But at least he will remember his life at it's best.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
LITTLE it's doesn't seem to LITTLE