What has the ages done to us
But let us fall out of place from the
skies?
Through the millenia, I have been
spinning whilst gazing
Across the Milk Way, to where you
spire in your own axis
The dread, the minute possibility, of
the chance I have
As the years permit to spin me closer
and closer to you
If another will decides that I lose my
cycle and become a supernova
But, though chances are cruel for us
who cannot break free
A time may tell that I may be able to
burn beside you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem