Trampling down lanes of unrequited love,
clinging like ivy to heartstrings of a
page in history of life's romance.
Tattered and dangling, bereft of returning
love, falling desperately into a mind of
blank, dark discovery.
No words created to ease the pain every
time music looks at and touches the
subconscious harp strings of remorse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem