Will you thy beautiful
Thy pleasant with fragrant posies
My flower in the garden
Stain on my face tears; morrow
I with my raining eyes
Water you to grow
Have I no harvest, but thorn
To stuck my fingers
My white flower in the garden
Shall you alter from pure?
Me don’t know, thy fragrant posies
Shall alter to rod
Look you when my tears have fallen
You cry amber studs
Birds are delighted and sing madrigals
Will thine pleasure, last till morrow
I understand, generally speaking what the poem says. But it doesn't have to be so complicated to understand. The words individually, may be beautiful. But it is not the beautiful word that makes poetry, it is the conbination of words and their clarity of meaning. GW62
Has a nice rhythm and I enjoy the imagery. You have an intriguing way of presenting your thoughts which means that this is poetry.
with my raining eyes Water you to grow Have I no harvest, but thorn To stuck my fingers...............................unique imagery with thoughts surchaged with powerful emotion yet blended beautifully, that deserves its merit
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice work with the muse of life and nature. Thanks for sharing.