What it was, a great feeling to part of something big.
To be yourself and show true emotion without mask or wig
To have the pleasure of doing what you like to do
To yourself always being true, What it was.
How it was, beautifully laid out
Like a plan no doubt
Just to be there gives you shiver
It was like avoiding to quiver, how it was.
What it used to be, so special to me
Like a farmer lovingly caring for his tree
To him his prized possession
His only passion, What it used to be.
I believe this is the sequence of life
You smile then blush then comes grief
But when you come to realize
It was always there, hiding, in disguise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem