for many a thing
we would often stay
a few others would
most likely detour
then lead us astray
for many a deed
are flowers after
a funeral march or a
get-away drive during
an explosive discharge
should we go and
leave behind, our
trophies and triumphs past
what's left's an orange rind
and a lonely sail-less mast
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem