My lover is as lovers are
(And as loving often goes)
My lover does not sing, he does not write
But yet he proposed a prose.
He called me his inspiration
A ‘shining star in his dark, black night’
And though before him I was well blinded
His loving gave me sight
My lover does as lovers do
He flatters till I’m blushing red
And though before him sleep never came easily to me
His loving bade me rest my head
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem