There’s never going to be a time
When they fade away, these
Old memories that connect me
To my childhood, to days gone by,
And lost loved ones. My Ghosts.
Ghosts from the past
That slowly rise from my mind,
Like the evening mist comes to
Blanket the river from its labors.
When I am falling to slumber
They rise, the old familiars,
Come to comfort
And accompany me
On night journeys.
So I won’t forget them;
So I don’t feel so lonely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem