The fog drapes, kissing the mountains it hides.
and the rose inside the green house he weeps.
You want love it sleeping, deep there inside.
Believing his hungry hand won’t ever find you.
Do you believe it and I can’t ever know it, it won’t show it.
What I believe of your love it consumes me, it is more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem