Your demure expression,
the unfailing grace with which you meet
the small misfortunes which we meet each day.
Your ready smile, intelligent gaze...
(the eyelashes covering your half-closed eyes) .
The care you take in your dress-
nothing fancy, but always pleasing-
never letting one forget you're a woman.
That warm-red, slightly orange, sweater,
the color of poppies,
so perfect next to your yellow hair....
Let these words be a charm against
all actual physical love;
let them somehow quench the passion
which they are tokens of.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem