Let me make this day the last,
slow and solemnly,
for tears flow freely over moving sands,
and lonely the ghostly clouds
that disperse the wind
and muffled empty sky.
Birds, thin and withered
no longer sing,
they mourn only for a better time
when the world was constant
in all that was furious.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem