In my garden is a trellis
on which once grow a Moonflower,
a curious vine who’s blossoms
hide from sunlight and
open only to the night.
Too much like the love we had,
I thought, glorious at times
but not able to withstand the glare
of each day’s harsh reality.
Without regret, I cut it down
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem