These were the games
I was expected to play
I had friends along the way
they watched the clouds
with time on their side
Oh the travails I could tell you
Herring days ad nauseum
A Mothers whisper
That may come to your biding
Once a contender
across mountain and plain
You've trode the narrow way
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem