We are but disquieted beings
Once of tender years
Now leaning with the wind as groaning oaks
Feet planted so stoutly as will never move again,
Where the passage of the years have left their leaden marks
Upon the heart and mind
And all that burns are memories
Deep within the soul
Tortured otherwise with the afflictions of living
And crying out for peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i feel you thanks for sharing