She comes as topping of my cake, the cream,
As soulful song, my misty morning sings,
Or wistful wisp of lonely dreamer's dream,
If not as scent, rose-planted garden brings;
She touches soft, as dew or falling mist,
Or gentle breeze wafted on cooler days,
Or butterfly, alighting on your wrist,
Then flies, as if guilty for its displays;
I wish to spin a web that stores her smile,
To tide me out when joy reserves are low,
Or hide some other smile that may beguile,
As more pernicious winds would come to blow;
…….I knew not love with any other name,
…….It tasted just as sweet while still the same.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem