Sitting idle, in this afternoon sun,
Drowsy with sleep from lack of fun,
Waiting for the day to finally end,
My thoughts, again, art to thee turned.
Perhaps, had I known thee more,
Had I spake or atleast, seen thee before,
In my passing youth, or even in my infancy,
'Twould appear not so hopeless a fancy.
Exactly what it is, it puzzles me,
That draweth me to think of thee,
Is it the name by which thou art called?
'Cause truth be told, I like the name Emerald.
Or is it just that care i'm known to own,
For all friends known and yet to be known,
Such that, all these i have to thee declared,
hall upon another, tomorrow be transferred?
Whatsoever be the truth, on my part,
Is of no significance in this regard.
All I know is it has made my afternoon,
And on it's account, I'll be asleep soon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem