In colours of yellow, orange, red and even almost blue
a carnation is a beautiful thing that you remember and remember,
it stays stuck
against the retina of what the eye sees
and half mysterious lies the almost clove goading smell,
half vague but the accent of it lingers and lingers constantly
where it’s on a lapel, single or in a bouquet in a vase
taking a woman’s breath away, cheering up a whole day
and a carnation is a magical flower
with which I want to reveal my love to you
who leave me dumbstruck,
wanting you to rise like a bud in my heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem