What are you made of?
If not for a harvest?
What are you made of?
If not for the very best?
All things are different
Burned through and had,
You have to relent
What that might add.
What are we made of?
If not from a wood?
What are we made of?
If nothing turns good?
Dreams are away now
Are they forgotten?
Or shall we somehow
Manage through the rotten.
What am I made of?
If not my own flesh?
What am I made of?
If it's something less?
Give, take another hour
Reach to world's trough
- Open up treasure chest,
Start its engine's doff
- All is within the armrest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this was a well written poem