Resting on an easy chair,
listening to echoes of past memories
coming alive even now in the quiet den of yesterday.
Sidling into conversations, finding moments of peace
as they fall gently into the music, playing for days
of old.
Pacing steps of age-old mementos, wondering when they
will lie in beds of satin and lace.
At the ending of life, resting in an easy chair as
echoes of the past fall silent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem