I have seen you somewhere before,
When time was the way to go;
Your face has the lines to adore,
When moon's in its height for a glow.
Like breeze in the beautiful trees,
For a very short while;
I did what you asked to please,
For that was my style.
But now I have nothing to give,
For all's just only to beguile;
To live what we truly can live,
For what we do compile.
I don't care anyway - anymore,
You gave no life to live;
For all was just you to abhor,
Burning passions unresponsive.
I have seen it all in the dark,
Running and flying around;
Into the unknown to embark,
Never again to be found.
But now I have nothing to give,
For all's just only to beguile;
To live what we truly can live,
For what we do compile.
We run away from each sorrow,
To whatever makes us glad;
There is always new tomorrow,
For sad yesterdays we had.
Now time has a way to be sure,
New plans invent and contrive;
If ours were of fate immature,
Dying passions unresponsive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem