What hope has truth to steadily mature
When loves emerges so childishly and green
Made mad by toxins not previously explored
Sown by strangers hands peevishly unclean;
In sun soaked rapture it deceptively perceives
It endures both in hurricane and drought,
Coldly it's captured, by husbandry deceived
It alternates betwixt blind certainty and rout;
What heart knows peace in such a change of seasons
That the eye can gage the fruits of loving labours,
Oh a heart can have little faith in reason
When it's wages are reckoned up so poor;
Oh truth in love is mangled at first sprout,
And bitter tastes the fruit that's ripe with doubt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
truth in love mangled at first sprout. I like it. thanks.