In the green morning
I wanted to be a heart.
A heart.
And in the ripe evening
I wanted to be a nightingale.
A nightingale.
(Soul,
turn orange-colored.
Soul,
turn the color of love.)
In the vivid morning
I wanted to be myself.
A heart.
And at the evening's end
I wanted to be my voice.
A nightingale.
Soul,
turn orange-colored.
Soul,
turn the color of love.
In the moments when desire fills you up with joy and takes one to a dream like world, those moments are precious. So artistically expressed in this poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This should have been the poem on the main page today.