When she comes and come she will,
The smell of the sea on the breeze.
On the air,
At night is when we are free to feel.
And love when it's gone to where,
Love is gone.
Will he or she really care?
For when I am gone and she is still here,
To young to know or to care.
Herself, grown old in the blink of the eye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem