it fell apart
like garment worn
til torn and thread bare,
full of rents,
broken seams, like promises
and what remained
so hard to mend.
and yet it was
my favorite.
i wore it every day
until...
it fell apart again,
the same.
it seems as if
it always will.
intrinsic error
in design,
inherant flaw
within the cloth.
perhaps i'll put it
on the shelf,
to entertain
some hungry moth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem