The Beauty Of Poetry, -To Theresa Andres Hermita, -
Dearest, -to day I was opening the bygone mine,
and drinking the pages of wine.
Sense-filled cups, feeling -oriented sun-shine.
The canopy upon the incessant waves rose.
I saw you in my mirror,
-all my garden turned into a rose.
I silently uttered a word, -again and again,
I became the reflection of your heart, and lost my brain!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem