My love did touch no shivers down my spine.
Inside her eyes I see no glint of sun;
Not one tomorrow waited there in line.
Her ways befit that of a disguised nun;
Or she could be a rose, a briar rose,
That shows a bloom once every twenty thorns,
Which might a lover's tenderness dispose
Like honeycomb still watched by bees one scorns;
But I see skies acquire a sudden hue,
When my beloved smokes without a care,
Some glow shoots from her hand, not from the blue,
Saves me a chimney to pollute my air;
……..Yet after all is said, a love's a love,
……..And might, with assignation from above.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem