When it is finished is that not everything?
To far, too fast, somebody, I hear near me singing.
My soul is not satisfied with having you found it lost.
One's approach to it, why by, my come to it looks for a glance.
Two as my one our thought, she looks for it's heart,
and it is not beating within me.
The same night that makes her whiten the same tree.
We both of't, those of then, no longer canna ken the same.
I want no longer, longing deep of her, it is certain,
but I wanted how much of her, deeply, of it.
My voice once looked for the wind, to touch her ear.
The leaves that once parted around me, felt no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem