He who would never his name write
On this bouquet of flowers
Yet your face in his heart inscribed
Your exquisite stature in his eyes a tower
He who one day you will forgive yourself to forget
His memory from mind and heart you will let
And he will be far away
Like the sun at the end of the day
He who will sink into a minuscule oblivion
Never to appear in mind or in opinion
He who will cease to be
In the dearest heart of thee
And those who would walk behind his coffin
Will never know or tell the roads of love within
His heart and soul toiled and trod
Just the sound of the lowering cords paralyzing odd
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem