the pageant of the season turns
and hope may come and go
the bloom of spring is insincere
a brief pretense and show
the promises of youth are guile
then bitter age is due
a lover's smile forswears deceit
yet proves to be untrue
at last our very breath defrauds
the pageant put to rest
as kindly words attend the grave
to dignify the quest
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I wouldn't have liked this once but from the standpoint of my 78 years it has a verity about it that might be uncomfortable but is still a verity.