In the middle of my garden,
Grows my wilting heart.
Stormed by hail;
Shook by wind;
Cracked to debrils by the sun.
If it dies as it shall-
It will be for lack of you.
Silence echos in my field,
Gloom rerenders soil unsuit,
You were the nutrients of my land,
And the keeper too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem