Once you gave me violets
Whose fragile beauty
Lasted but an hour,
Then wilted, but fragrant
I pressed them,
First to my lips
Then between the pages
Of my diary
To remember that day
To savour that moment
So transient
When your love
Was fresh
Like the violets
But, like them,
Did not last.
Only the memory remains
Bruised and crushed
Like me
Lost in the past
Where my hope,
And our love,
Lies buried.
April 2003
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is very beautiful. So glad to find this one today. I believe you might still have those violets pressed there between the pages.