Delight of you own self is gone?
And everything reminds
About Your age all around?
On holidays it comes...
But you forget and rustle, sough
Your carmine skirt on dark,
And go deep into the thought -
There will come a new dove
That hides new sense behind the plait,
Like the sea, fustian, cool.
From the sea's point - Ideas' Cape
Is always beautiful!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem