Honey is sweet to any one to taste
But its confinement, alas, is its fate.
Others, suited, are forbidden to taste.
When that one is lost honey goes naked
And seems sweeter to many wicked,
For which must it find soon a safe pocket.
Otherwise, it may turn sour in neglect,
Or may dry out in long disuse,
Or, perhaps, lies bare for someone’s abuse.
Honey, when orphaned by the host,
Be reclaimed by any one worth it,
Before it is too late, and thus be it blest.
Youth is honey,
Be she a a virgin or a widow,
With the same flow.
[About a young beautiful widow]
12.04.2000, Palakkad Lady Airly
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem