what is love, love
is a long night
you pacing madly
in my mind, I
have felt it, but
I have felt it carefully
held it gently
with gloved hands, this
question, I have
answered by losing
it, letting it softly
walk away, and
I have seen more
questions than stars
in the mad broke eyes
of grandfather, let
it go, pass by
the guitar man on
the corner, a mother
smiles at me, she
has already forgotten
me
will you?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
They will forget if you don't do something they remember. Then again, it's difficult not to make a memory out of yourself for pple. Still a fan of your deep and non-evasive insight, Ben. This one is no exception X's and O's