Hardest thing is not to know,
the depthneth of my sorrow.
Lost of chance until this day,
lost in heart tomorrow.
Eyes but of an empty gaze,
breath held in despair.
Is it or,
or is it not,
a truth that non true care.
Worries stew until they ache,
tis the heartbreak to the saint.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem