Slowly we drift away
in the paper boats we made when we were small
slowly the water eats at the paper
until there is nothing left at all
The paper that seemed so sturdy
and would hold anything when we were young
is slowly desintigrating
and sailing is no longer fun
Because we are constantly plugging holes
and taping at the seems
we're working so hard to keep afloat
but we dont know what anything means
So slowly my boat desintigrates
afloat I'll no longer stay
I'll be left in the middle of the ocean
to drowned and drift away
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem