Not once has the sun risen
without the singing it's herald
Never has the sun gone down
when the birds did not sing of it's passing
Once I thought of you, of me
how upon wings our lives have sped
The memories we carry
are the most precious of all we have
Never in this life have I found a meaning
all I know is what what we have done
Life is what we are
does anyone know any more?
This haphazard olio that is life
can only be of our doing
So it goes, flying and swirling
stopping with an adrupt end
Once we were heralded into life
will our passing be sung?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.