it will never be boring
the same sun shining
on the same green field
and the same man
sitting under the same
tall tree watching
a day go by
like it is the last
day of his life
sunshine touching
his face like the hands
of a remembrance
green fields appeasing
him like some
souvenir from
a far away
memory
and there is this wind
always whispering
to his ears:
wait for me
i am coming.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem