There are many who have spent,
Their entire lives telling lies.
And find when the time comes,
Just how difficult it is to deny them.
Especially to others who unexpectedly discover,
What truth is to have it become valued.
And with this done to do,
When the ones who have lied.
Can not remember them told.
Or what was said and to who.
Yet those who do know truth,
For what it is to keep that way.
Are seldom the people,
Trying not to remember it.
To conveniently forget.
As if left to sit unpicked,
From a selective memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem