There always seems to be something relevent,
About the re-occurrence of facts.
They remain consistent.
No matter how many versions are told,
To manipulate them.
And each time they are used,
A beating around the bush...
Accompanies someone's lapse in memory.
But the facts have no lapses at all.
They are there and dependable.
Like the Sun, Moon and Stars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem