I walked along for many years
On a pavement, flat and wide
Perhaps not perfectly flat
But a safe enough ride;
A simple defining of the days
Sky blue mornings, nights of soot
Then a knife with sharpened blade
That scored and slashed and cut;
Is this just getting old?
The taking away of the gifts
One by one they are falling
Where once they used to lift;
Let me run and swim and dance
In those days that I so miss
Now all done on a knife edge
On this deathly precipice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem