Are we allowed to return to past glories?
Will the present walk away with disgust?
Meet on the plains where truth is freedom,
and we shall share stories and wine,
before the present calls us away.
For unfortunately,
the strongest sign of life
is the mushroom cloud.
Hello.
Goodbye.
Later.
The End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem