We’ve come unto the autumn of our love.
The morning dew stopped falling,
Our garden now displays, its withered vines,
The sweetness of its soul, lost to time,
It’s barren now, where once our flowers grew.
We must admit, that now our love is through.
Oh my, but I weep for true loves passing,
Why did we tempt winter, with our hearts?
Overlooked a treasure which was dieing,
We let it pass away without a thought?
This love song now is lying silent,
In cold and dark it’s resting in its tomb,
Encased forever deep inside its chamber,
Housing memories of a love, that once had bloomed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A classical beauty. I love this, William.