It inside,
are the blue, pinks, purple from
countries it cannot say.
It, the package that you sent,
is blushed in tears, so many it would say.
Each is counted numbered,
thus in fame you reached, when you
began your climb, from deaths past love.
This box of hearts,
all know the parts, that each of you did play in it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem