Don’t tell him I still yearn for him,
Don’t tell him he’s my only dream.
He may become frightened or grim.
Don’t tell him my every cell for him cries,
Don’t tell him in my dream I see his eyes.
Instead tell him I’m his friend, tell him lies.
Don’t tell him of my wet pillow each night,
Don’t tell him he’s my sun, my only light.
He’s a virtuous man – it wouldn’t be right.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem