I see that loving you brings changes to my youth,
The fires of interior virtues burden our medallions.
Blind-following rips the heart apart, like loathing the doing,
Oh, where is the deed to be done?
I saw that praise ought to be mobile like chariots,
Stealing my magic loved the full panoramic view;
Then because you stationed the blessing,
I did not blow a cushion in your swing.
In this part of the house, a room badged itself,
Windows after windows illuminated the one who
Bore longevity, the one who wore true happiness
And calmness, fulfilling the gates of this ride.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem