Your absence led me to remonstrances,
As you left without hinting of return,
With no memento for remembrances,
Left for heart with no choices but to yearn;
Yet distance favors beauty of a rose,
When too far away to discern their thorn,
Or the moon, how so pretty it still shows
With craters, not seen, that its face has worn;
And how like the moon, you have ridden high,
Oh so far from reach, with your mystic shroud.
Would the moon still awe, if it leaves the sky,
And say, down at sea, it fell there and plowed?
…….But then, for the wine, anybody sips,
…….The cup needs be brought over to the lips.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem