Do not pick the flower,
let it fade. . .
and when the petals fall,
fold in the book, soft tissues
to capture the waning essence
of a memory, past bliss
once to delight when youth.
Then safe in darkest recess
let memory sleep daylight hours
to wake with you through nights
once crowded with the flower.
Hold the pillow as once your love
perfume fading, surely as it will.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem