Lying on a patch of soft green moss
Listening to the gentle ever-flowing river
Counting stars on a starless night
And slowly yet inevitably waiting for the moon
To lose her fears and spring back up
From beneath those dark and dreary clouds
I whisper quietly the three lame words
For I’ve said it now over a thousand times
And all my misery escapes me
As I watch you smiling back at me!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem