If I wrote a couplet
every time I wanted to embrace you,
My rhyming would be predictable.
If I wrote a haiku
every time I yearned to kiss you,
I'd surpass my fourth grade class with them.
If I wrote a sonnet
every time I thought of our future,
My name would be Shakespeare.
And if I wrote a book of poetry
every time I wished you were in my arms,
Walt Whitman's 'Leaves of Grass' would be a mere pamphlet.
In short, love,
There couldn't be enough paper
and ink to satisfy my need for you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem