1 For shapeless beauty itself, is of the veil of imagination, attached is a saddened coffin, the illusion of perfection.
2 Love, under analysis, is mental, perverse, imaginary, strange, a radiant lie.
3 Matrimony with passenger executed monotony as I suggested.
4 After time, lips touched no longer, dead trees fell.
5 In my final attempt of grasping these eloquent ideas, I have not heard laughter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem