They come to see me lying here,
for never will I sit.
Puddles form from each a tear,
between the stones upon my crypt.
Less weight now then was before,
in all my days of young.
Sentiments that speak forgive,
flow from all kins tongue.
They come to see me lying here,
for never will I sit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem