Thou art a rose
That has blossomed sans growing thorns:
An error it is nature's, but thou shall,
In all probability, bear sufferance wrought by
Its neglect utter: and yet, despite thy handicap,
Thou prickest my already bleeding heart,
Which prick marks bears a-many, ascribed to the
Fallacy of my loving and trusting soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks, Marieta for your appreciation. I am sure you are a generous person.