If I spoke in thorns, not thread,
And left your heart in quiet dread,
Forgive the storm I did not see—
The ache I caused unknowingly.
I did not weigh the words I threw,
Nor see the shade they cast on you.
I meant no harm, yet harm was done—
A wound beneath the setting sun.
Forgive the words that came out wrong,
The silence where I should've sung.
I never meant to cause you pain—
But guilt now falls like winter rain.
So take this truth, this quiet plea:
I'm sorry for what came from me.
Let lessons bloom, let anger fade—
And meet me where the hurt was made.
I'll listen now with open skin,
To all the hurt I held within.
And if you grant me one reply—
Let it be grace, not goodbye. .
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem