Tis love my only bethrottle of innocence
whilst its shadow runs over me subtley
i thought the moon could deliver me penitentence
but this pen, and this ink still asunder under me roughly
i thought that the blade of fate had decapitated me senselessly
but this world has chosen me lovingly
and now the carriage of my heart flies me to heights of bliss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem