I'm not so sure just what it was
that floated in the summer air.
I'm not so sure from whence it came;
I'm sure indeed that it was rare.
Fully distinct as gravity,
But like unto a flower's scent,
Still tugging on the sense’s strings;
Just as the sweetest nectar's spent.
To know for sure of what I speak,
Will surely never come to pass.
One never gets that tempting sip,
Of Sherry, reaching not the glass
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I've decided that you are my favorite poet :) Thank you for sharing.