There are no friends like those
Who have known us as a youth,
Almost as though, I do suppose
Only they can know the truth
About the pieces and the parts
That constitute our minds and hearts.
So treasured are the old familiar faces,
All the music and the places
And the eyes that still remember
Things that lead us to this cold December.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem