I wish before the last wave came
and how it came to be.
How love when beauty was of her not you.
I became concerned, concerning you,
and you, I thought of to.
With both how did I come to be alone?
To me with whom you talk,
and you with whom I walk these walks were long.
Caught between the moon,
and some others independent thoughts.
Cold the sea,
and silver traces where the light has shone.
There is a sandy hill the wind has missed.
While the surf around me echoes thoughts you miss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem