If the madness lifted to auto-pilot,
I'd already be in my lover's arms,
Above, where nothing but her touch lingers
My scars, my blessings, my clouds
I asked too much. A reply she couldn't
Deliver and so I made company with silence
But tended my plot of love each morning
All the same, through years and jobs, the slight changes
The body takes, but breathing her memory through
Dawn and Dusk, hoping the fumes might get me through
The day and its strange flowers never in bloom
Meager in a respect, so ready for life
Delicate fuses waiting for a light,
When the garden knows only wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Meager in a respect, so ready for life Delicate fuses waiting for a light, when the garden knows only wind. Beautiful lines of a nice poem.