The dusk of evening softly sighs,
Her fragrance lingers in the tree's,
A fleeting warmth, a sweet surprise,
Like honeyed drops from cherry trees.
I miss her taste, the tender wine,
Her lips a nectar I adored,
Now bitter is the fruit I find,
In memories, my heart is still finds.
Oh, for one more sip, one kiss,
To drink the love that I still miss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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