'Time grows afraid of the triumph of time'-
Thomas MacGreevy.
He made an effort to smile
And my eyes filled up
Knowing the man he was...
At five asleep (or in a coma?)
As Mary washed his brow.
Leaving, to call back later,
Recalling events from childhood...
Later, upon contact, a heart-
Broken sister...
Hard to believe he's gone...
Seeing him now in the face
Of my child.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem