One day,
In the evening of May.
When you will come to ask me,
What color was the sky before it turned grey.
I no-longer will have the answer. For that I may die,
In the morning of May,
With my hair still to be grey.
Well done...No matter what we may believe, we do not know the future....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a lovely poem with a good, strong and positive message, keep it up with thank you 4 this poem... Thanks