Black smears my days, it's all a waste of night,
In raiment, very dark, it clothed my heart,
For love has dimmed, bright days are all in flight,
Dreams, too, it tainted, until they depart;
Yet, nary is a picture with no shades,
No one returns, if first he did not leave,
With much exposure, novelty soon fades,
Your absence, might prove worthless to bereave;
If life be garden where sweet roses grow,
There also thrive the weeds which cause the pain,
And mark, a blue sky makes not the rainbow,
It's the sunshine, with some help from the rain;
........Let my bright days be drenched, for then I know,
........That it results in rainbows soon to show.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem