The words that I do leave
will like the paper
on which it is printed out
at a time become yellow and dull,
maybe disintegrate for people to nothing
and in my world of which I am telling
they may not be interested
as if the one that they are in
are more perfect and important
but in the letters on the line I do leave
small parts of myself.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem