As wings would take to skies for lofty flights,
And waves would roll, ardent, towards the shore,
Would I, my love, pursue the pure delights,
Once you bestow, I could not care for more;
We'll not aspire to soar, to reach the sun,
To fall Icarus-like on melted wings,
Nor sail the seas upon the waves we shun,
Except in calm, such as Poseidon brings;
But with your loving care throughout the years,
I'll have the bliss that every blessed owns,
And this fond heart to highest heaven swears,
Will have its fill of mirth without the clowns;
......This story ends, like most, might get retold,
......Yet like the skies and waves, it can't grow old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem