when i was young as a petal
of a rose
i love the hands of the sun
caressing
my stalk and thorns and leaves
time has betrayed me with
wilting gifts
i am not as old
but i am feeling the changes
the petals fall away
and my thorns are dry and not
as sharp as
any kind of reliable defense
there is this beautiful feeling
though
that of letting go
that of watching the sun set
gracefully
and finally saying upon my
innermost
that Life is indeed short
and that foremost
it has been so exciting
so beautiful
and one that last day
still
to the extreme....amazing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem