I can not be the reason or the object
Of love you me -I simply ask to love, the love to be,
To see- it's here and it's growing -the crimson flower at night,
He's free in offering, profusion- myriad of springs in colors
But only one -the flower and spring you and me,
But the attraction of an errant knight's perfection at dawn may steal
Your eyes, reserve and sighs to stalwart beauty of some other dewy eyes of Eden flora,
Me meanwhile serve my time gardening the crimson flower under the guidance of this gentleman old sun...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem