When time glides by and days past into night
and violet, white even blue flowers are withering
with every morning’s light
as if everything is dying
trees are barren stripped of their leaves,
still perfect you are in every way
while wheat are bound in golden sheaves
while winter brings its own decay
it is as if you are still blossoming
with love serene, true and amazing
as if caught in an eternal spring
as if the heat from your heart is blazing:
on the other side of death, of heaven or doom
your flower will still bloom.
[Reference: Sonnet 16 “But wherefor do not you a mightier way” by William Shakespeare.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem