They were there sitting in early spring,
Sitting upon the lake with each ring,
Looking at what nature might bring,
The couple held hands as they lay in the sling,
And with the moonlight, the birds began to sing,
And they both realised it was a good spring,
But then the man said an impudent thing,
And the pain in the woman began to sting.
Then the pain began to become more,
And there was nothing in this to adore,
And the girl said she was sore,
But the man tried to mend her core,
But with that bit of lore,
The girl ran and was no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem