A mobile past, a source of joy
The times we shared; not minding what we heard
The times of trial that always made our hopes tired
The smile on our faces, when we gaze at the past we've made
The tranquile stream in our mind when we know the joy of love is alive
The fear of time, that doubts our eternalfellowship
The war of the senses, the work of the built mind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem