Her mornings spent amidst the various blooms,
The garden was in luck to share her day,
Her joy, at times, in singing she resumes
By tune she hums that lilts as symphony;
In strides, she walks with firm inherent grace,
With hair like boughs that in the breezes dance,
Lucky the rose that competes with her face,
If it attracts more than a fleeting glance;
Like bud in calyx sheathed to keep from harm,
So hides her skin that little the world sees,
If any that would much expose her charm,
Are times her dress had fluttered in the breeze;
......My love, demure, but also circumspect,
......Lively and free, yet true as hearts expect.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem