Forlorn old letters from the past compil'd,
I endlessly could sense their moving phase
Sank deep below the ocean yet has mild—
Approached from where I stood, there was a trace.
O reaching still, alas! There's no allay—
Won't compromise to smile though heavens will?
Along the countless sands thy failed to stay:
There is regret abiding to thine ill.
But what I've felt would be my misery
‘Cos time forbade such death I pity thee,
Art thou the owner of last poetry?
How skeptic I might be if fail to see.
So shall the half-less being to be share—
To an acquaintance crown O death forbear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem