We love, we read,
Observe and bleed,
Life's inner secret vein,
But all we know,
Is what we feel,
Those things we can't explain,
And that sometimes,
Don't even have a name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love this one! Yes, we don't always have a name for certain feelings...but they're there just the same. Life's inner secret vein...is a good line. It cuts to the chase.