A note, passed on; of this girl's friend.
Roughly, as to a lout!
Sombre, charred; for passion, burnt out.
Love, gone up in smoke. Why?
Held, un-bowed to, of its reader;
Who's anger is a gust.
Each word-cinder, hot again, must
From of it simply fly!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem