If the moon on the skies does not roam,
But cools, like a seal above,
My dead husband enters the home
To read the letters of love.
He remembers the box, made of oak,
With the lock, very secret and odd,
And spreads through a floor the stroke
Of his feet in the iron bond.
He watches the times of the meetings
And the signatures' blurry set.
Hasn't had he sufficiently grievings
And pains in this word until that?
It is a nice poem. But I love 'departure' and 'everything' more Anaswara
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
He watches the times of the meetings And the signatures' blurry set. Hasn't had he sufficiently grievings And pains in this word until that? very nice poem and expressions. tony