C-omfort fades from your mind,
Y-our fine clime turns unkind.
R-apture transforms to pain,
I-t's blue that turns dark
L-ane.
A-s seen ninth of February
B-ecomes dusk easily.
L-ove changes into fight,
E-ach day turns into
N-ight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem