I miss your laughter, fun, and gentleness.
I miss the things I used to do for you.
I miss the time, now filled with emptiness,
When each day was a stage for something new.
I miss your love; though mine for you remains,
A passion with no outlet to the sea,
A teardropp in a desert, that contains
I miss, for my love's labor, the reward
Of seeing some small pleasure in your face.
All these I miss, and yet they are all here
Within my heart, far more than I can bear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem