Beloved, someday
our love story will be like water;
It runs quiet, eliminating thirst
give life, and refrigerate.
But for a moment,
Rapid flow will not be contained,
Destroy all life,
Give rise to pangs, and endless pain.
Do not blame love, sweetheart.
Because we are making disaster strikes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem