First love I recall now, and I will hence,
Like rain that came ahead of April's norms,
It wets us through, though deemed of no offence,
And laced our days throughout the August storms;
First things have always claimed in mind a room,
As how strangely, we would greatly uphold,
What first enters or goes out of the womb:
The virgin's loss, or firstborns' heirloom gold;
My foremost pain was that eggshell to break,
For love that lies unsaid in many ways,
If by queer chance, might I, those days remake,
No more will I hold back on love's forays;
....Now I have known, to mourn not love when lost,
....If but it's known to one who mattered most.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem