Traipsing down roadways, tapping out rhythms in times of musical domain.
Creating new versions of tonal qualities, composing extra beautiful compositions, sonnets, sonatas and epistles of historical rhythms.
Going too soon, into depths of sorrow's belongings, putting together pictures of another world, hiding inside the abandonment of life and it's heritage.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem