The hardest time to say good-bye
is when one is arriving
'Come in, ' you say,
'Come in and stay and warm yourself.'
'No, it's time to say good-bye.'
The hardest time to say good-bye
is when someone is leaving.
The fire still burning,
the coffee still warm,
dessert sits, barely nibbled, on a vacant table.
'Why don't you stay? ' you ask.
'No, it's time to say good-bye.'
Now good-byes fly like flakes of snow.
A winter wind cuts to bone,
its blade whistles in the flue.
Teeth, knives on paper skin,
stab through to my hollow soul.
Will there be spring? Perhaps
when the robins return
and tulips peek with tender shoots
to see their sun is really back.
It will be warmer, yes.
The hardest time to say good-bye
is when someone is gone.
A final hug, a squeeze, a wish
not felt nor heard,
lay silenced by lonely truth.
Good-bye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem