Autumn confirms
the less-than-perfect
as the most endearing,
as chaste reluctance
moves unnoticed to
involuntary giving.
Spring never brought
a blemish to your candid gaze,
never attached any poignancy
to a naked glance.
And summer was too much
engaged in blossoming
to know that imperfections would bring
the tenderest, most haunting of all wantings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh! it is extremely BEAUTIFUL! and this - brings hope and light through everything! - imperfections would bring the tenderest, most haunting of all wantings.
I am humbled, Liza! Charl