We dredge secrets,
That's the start,
Panning love from art.
Our words wash over
Like sluicing water,
To clean the buried heart.
Crack the hard rock
To reach motherlode;
Veins enrich us,
With jewels to share.
Float to the summit
On romantic trysts;
Reclaim me from
An open pit
With deep drill
Diamond bits.
These small gems
We call poems
Are sweet as gold
From honeycombs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem