one perfect painted picture
hung crooked on the wall,
one day it will completely wither,
and it will die and fall,
a new picture will be painted
and hung in the same place,
its memory tainted,
by a once dead space,
it too will one day die,
and another painting
will be hung with another sigh,
furthering the tainting
of another painting that will die
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like it! As one Marco to another. lol I like the concept that life continues on, and keeps going.