I see her standing up on a plataeu singing an ode. I
confide in her my tenderness, my feelings. With her love I am
sent a box of joy, a box of happiness.
This box, my box, it's now forever not for sale.
The golden hair around her face. I want to see her face.
She says I love you but I stand in a rut don't know what to say.
I decide to give her my box, my box of feelings.
This box, her box, it's now forever not for sale.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem