I would make a pillow
The leaves of the basil
Let the basil know well
The troubles of my soul.
On the sky love is flying,
Its wings are shuttering.
Come, sprinkle water, rain,
The heart is burning, rattling
That heart-breaker of mine
Would not hear my sighs, up.
Being far away from me he
Left his victim caught in a trap.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem