The morning is fresh with thoughts and sounds,
of a day spent with a lady so enchanting.
Happy trinkets of love abound,
and feelings so utterly enthralling.
A kiss on her forehead,
out of pure sweet affection.
A kiss in love's stead,
to my soul's satisfaction
And now all i think all i dream,
are of this lady so enchanting.
So sweet it would be this scheme,
Should we joint the mere thought so thrilling.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This looses the rhythm even more. Try counting the sylables in your lines, or try writing a 'prose' poem. Bob Dylan used to just throw words together without reason to get the flow of a rhythm. Try re-working this, keep writing.