she always goes away
this time of year
and I always find myself
noticing
fact and fiction
contradictions
separate in ways
that hot and cold
truth be told
are here but always change
she walked silently through
the woods
held in a hush
that never gave rise nor objection
to the fact
this story told
is one of old
of hearts that never mend
about lovers dreams
what you believe
not where you pretend
She remembered the stars that night
were brilliant
how a story stole her heart
she still's there
behind a stare
having seen those eyes before
finding old amongst the new
in a shade of soft subdued
and a song of ever more
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem