That moon, it sulks in dark corners of space,
Oblivious of the hearts and dreams that wait,
It could have wandered to renew its face,
Then to come back, and never to frustrate;
But times that it plays hide and seek with clouds,
Lost lovers rile, at what to think of this,
As sudden shadows loom, in doubt that shrouds,
They might depart without a token kiss;
My moon is kinder and more sensible,
And so is my sweet love that waits beneath,
With faith that to the times been suitable,
And virtues which to sheer beauty bequeath;
……She could run out of sleep, and with it, dreams,
……Moonlit nights are such risks that joy redeems.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
still beautifully done