Love's a poor shelter, whatever you say,
The cover flaps in the wind,
rain gets in the ceiling,
Yet here we come to kindle
In a loving gesture or a glance
A little warmth beneath the hungry stars.
While overhead there stretches a vast sky,
stony, infinite,
And utterly indifferent to our brief ecstasy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Rather like 'the benign indifference of the universe', maybe.