Gazing at fragility,
The words of dead poets,
I weep in a bookstore.
Lonely childhood room
Reading Catcher in the Rye
Never leaves me.
I’m at home in autumn
Among the barren trees,
The windswept life
Blows away my love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A stunning piece of poetry. True poets will weep with you, Uriah. Warm regards, Sandra