The flared hem whispers tales of days gone by,
Of platforms high and dances in the light,
A silhouette beneath a hazy sky,
When peace signs bloomed and music felt so bright.
These denim folds, a fashion once so high,
Now slumber deep within a dusty height,
A story in their faded fabric told,
Of youthful dreams and spirits unrestrained and bold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem