As the heart yearns
Amid drum throbs of yester-pains
Bitter leaves in sweet tongue
Your angelic face mocks my soul
Tears cleanse my soul
Your alluring dawn bird voice
All refill me whole
Here I take your hand
Again we shall pick flowers
My brittle one.
Again we will pick flowers from the garden of poetry -thanks for sharing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Charles J. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.