To die forgotten,
Is like fading dust,
Into the winds of eternal time.
The memory of you,
Is shattered like a mirror,
Only shards remain,
A multitude of tiny proofs,
Worth nothing.
To die unforgotten,
Is like a vivid painting,
In a museum for all to see.
Every stroke of paint,
Every small detail,
All create a masterpiece,
That will not fade,
Or be blown away,
In the wind of time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem