The word
“Love”
Is vastly overrated.
To say that
Simple
Word
To another being
Is to reveal the soul
Utterly.
Always
There will be
One
Who can stop
Loving
And keep
Living.
The Sun
Loves
The Flower
For its beautiful upturned face
So innocent and pure.
The Blossom
Loves
The Sun
For its warm golden rays,
Key to its survival.
Mid-Spring
The Flower blooms
Nurtured by
Gentle
Rays.
Summer,
Progresses.
The flower is
More beautiful
Each passing day.
Autumn,
Swept in
With cool winds,
The Flower
Clinging by a thread
Desperate for life.
Winter
Snow falls
Silent
Covering the corpse
Properly,
Giving relief
To the Sun’s
Distress.
Now the Sun shines
Merrily
Through the frosted window panes,
Throwing rainbows on the floor
Eagerly awaiting
The next
Fragile bloom
To nurture.
Waiting
For time to stop.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the eternal cycle, the renaissance, a beautiful poem! ~~Elya Thorn~~