I miss the missing of you. Like-a-toothache.
The pain is deeply rooted in my heart.
I didn't go to the dentist; did you?
The pain, the pain, was all too sharp.
Destiny makes me pine with every sinew.
Then you came alongside me, taking my hand.
Ah, my agonies then slowly dissipated and withdrew.
Season after season into eternity, they extract and subtract.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem