We often tell the same old stories
Valhalla, Marathon, Waterloo
How we came to know each other
Each year the glory seems to grow
Some glitter has gone out
Feats of the past
Can not cure monotony of now
Sounds of passion and hormones dried up
In its place, compassion
Memories of the past
Death before dying echoes
With time intervals, far and in between
'Oh dear, they heard that before'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i like it; it's crisp. defeats the mundane in a unique way. SusxGLx