I was always pushing my kisses under your closed door
And you deemed me a fool for that,
But I never stopped,
I kept shoving them
Until a mountain grew,
A mountain in your room.
Afraid to face me
You died in that room,
And I died outside...
Well, not actually,
But out hearts did die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem