For my sister.
It is not for you
the cursing praise
the lying truths
the grieving joy in artifice
For you there is
only
the wind on your face
the sun in your hair
and the sweet biting chill of iridescent raindrops
in unclouded eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good advice - and wise advice. A very well written poem too. Rgds, Ivan