What tales could these deep rooms hold?
Each slab and plot a story untold,
Of children laughing and crying,
Of families and lovers living and dying.
Oh, look not upon this place with fear,
For death's dark shroud for all is near.
That death is but a bridge to be crossed
Which leads to life anew, ergo nothing lost.
What peace is found in such repose
For those who suffer and touch this rose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem