Do you still love me, she asks
fragile moment, simple words
Fear and longing mingled like our breaths
hanging precariously in the air
People talk about the weather
To fill the savage spaces
Empty Silence, empty words
And we talk about the weather
What can I say
What do I know of the weather
Falling gently, scattered drops
What do I know of the rain
Do you still love me, she asks
In the interval between
What do I know of love
Falling gently, scattered drops
And in the rooms the women light as a feather
stand around talking about the weather
And I don't really know what to say
I know nothing about the rain
I searched for T.S. Elliott and found your poem. It's beautiful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i love this very good poem