When the fresh morning air
Blew over the south bay
When the crystal bright sunlight
Beckoned the start of the day
What would the world have thought
Had we not been there to see
The lapping of the waves
And the rustling of the trees?
If our footsteps had not traversed
The streets of the old town
If the rain had not fallen and fallen
On its way down to the ground
What if our spirits
Had not had the chance to bond
What price our golden memories
In the waiting years beyond
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem