Love, can you make me, feel,
better off with or with out it.
And the pain that fate makes me feel
when the sea is their all around me.
Some times I lay you down on the shore.
I ask you, is it love that is living?
Moving the sand each wave, leaving me
nothing at all, your sweet voice is giving
and how much more than once at night,
can you love me,
when each morning, grace finally comes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Moving the sand each wave' catching the fragrance of the salty taste between two, the sea open to receive the sand imprinted as the tide comes in.