Most thngs are oft forgotten in one's life,
No longer meant to be though hard to take,
Some things becoming rotten cause one strife,
And thus in our learned wisdom we forsake.
In memory the lives of loved ones fade,
Their moments and their smiles pass us by,
Their spirits drift into the land of shades,
And then are lost again when we deny.
What evidence at all that they were here?
Experiences gone once just begun?
This day that each of us so close endears,
Is nothing past the setting of the sun.
In different ways our lives we replicate,
Then suffer too our own indifferent fate
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem