Chilled winds bite my face
Begging me to cry
Yet I shed not a tear
For fear of myself
Lest I should shed one tear
I would cry until the morrow
And still feeling undone
Would cry some more
Unable to move
Unable to talk
Unable to stop
'til I should waste away
Fading into dust
To cry my sorrows
Would be murder of thine self
So not a tear I shed
For fear and mortal dread
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem