she was looking for love
and found nothing but a word,
words are spoken, and love is
spoken, and written, so she thought
love is a letter, a love letter,
which she sends, but there is no
name to send it, no address, and so
she thinks that love is uncertain,
and just a letter, which she writes
and folds, and seals in an envelope
and keeps it to herself alone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem