two lovers of the written word
eschewed nectar, fruit forbidden,
their dreams sang on, yet were deferred
they tumbled, spent, into a midden
where souls of those who'd loved before
(and left their candy in the store)
perfected lines and lays of worth
some slender, some of greater girth
a spark remains, but, oh, alas...
they spooned not on the forking path...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem