When I think of moon
its waning does not come to my mind.
When I think of fish
its thorn does not come to my mind.
When I think of my longevity
its gravity does not come to my mind.
When I think of you, dear,
your lure discounts your evasiveness.
Be a tree. I want shade,
not any flower, fruit or seeds of you.
04.05.2001, Pmdi
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem