Do we leave, on the air
As the ground upon
For imprints, lasting proofs; which scoff
At winds' rubbed motion?
I cant be sure; except
Feel warmer here!
A ran through for joy place; of one's
Child-heart, prevalent.
Without fail, does each subsequent
Beat through time revere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem