A day is always coming
And bringing something from past
Approaching feelings strumming
Of 'nothing's gone to last'
Rice cakes for the dusty wind
Looking bright one morning
Into coal or stone tinned
Each their side is turning
Golden voices once had
Fall now when they're speaking
Singing on like scratching pad
No silver throats seeking
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem