What I love you don't understand,
my love is endless
I love the past,
and the scent of a flower
newly blossomed
that he brings to us objects.
We are in the hands of an ancient one,
who plays with us and our thoughts,
and every day molds us
into a new rose
that emanates each time,
the scent of the first time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem