If it is not forgotten,
and never must I speak to you of dying love.
How I must in truth you passing, must I long.
And that of you, as it passes by me, all my life.
The breeze when of you it touches me, the wind.
And when I'm looking up at you cloud the sky,
were to pass through me, thoughts leave me.
Who but am I, when down by the seashore.
Remember that night of that day, that last time,
as I raised you up in my arms.
The waves rise up to your lips forgotten is the kiss.
I was pulled under,
by the moons yellow flower that you often gave me,
remember this my love.
It is not that long when forgotten by me and moving,
are you the waves and I am by then faraway.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem