Time shut her brisky ears and turn away
When we needed her the most she left
Aloft in the mansion of high heels
She is the Gucci of Pataki, long forsaken
Life is a mixture of ups and downs
so do not make an end from the beginning
Time snails as though from Boston
at dawn she hurrry to Pataki
Never imagine her wide gates will one day close
In the end none was left accessible
that is when time no longer bears her name
And her witty banter all lost to the scum
Fully alofted in the door steps of eternity
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem