Come, walk with me and smell the flowers,
‘Tis this hour of the year again;
Lo! How bright the sun yet shines:
It might just clear our skies of pain.
Let's recline in this green grove,
And watch the doves while they roam,
Let's drink and laugh, or sing of love,
Or think how to make this our home.
In your eyes I see desire,
In your kiss I sense the flame—
Why would you contain such fire?
Let go, and life won't be the same…
Although the day may still seem young
And the night so far away,
We only get one chance at spring
That's followed by but slow decay.
Thus, take my hand and think not much,
I'll show a life well-spent, and more:
We'll levitate through tongue and touch,
And live like we've ne'er lived before!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem