It's my silent secret,
No one really knows,
Least of all me,
The stem where it grows
It blooms inconsistently,
Rarely taking hold,
But it's always there,
Underneath the folds,
I'm not sure whether it's real,
Or just a naive dream,
I'm not sure whether it holds true,
Or is just a silent spring fling?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love or something else? ...There hasn't been a better way of describing the feeling...10!