Asphodels nod white heads like a sages against emerald green
the wind ripples its magic whispering in the trees.
so where are we you ask, is this is a secret garden?
foxgloves buzz with bees and the rain smells sweet on the earth
the sunsets and we sit.
sometimes, I think, there is harmony between us;
I savour these moments of truce before we declare war again,
letting normal service resume.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
and further more: " According to the Victorian Language of Flowers [1], asphodel is a type of lily meaning 'my regrets follow you to the grave, ' " have a nice day, Andy! ! bri :)