I will tread on meandering paths, often weary;
I will stop and gaze at the sun as it rises.
I will watch a tree's leaves rustle in the breeze
Rest my body, so tired, when I please
I will wander in that old city's lanes
Pass crumbling mansions, craftsmen at work;
I will recall youth's joys and troubled sorrows
Even as I write in fragrant ink these lines;
I remember snatches of melody;
I remember the poetry of long ago.
Defenceness, under the end of mortality
I will witness my own nostalgic pain.
Copyright: Rani Turton
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem