Rest may be found
Only in the dead
In chaste stillness
They have no desires
Most would prefer
A bed to a grave
Where love can win or lose
Return and be wasted
Those attempts
At understanding
Those times
Of wounding
Distilled by distance
Passions mislaid by time
Choices made remain
A testament to living
Bow gratefully to the lady
Whose dove was sent
If only for a while.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem