For you I am not the one
Who can rip his heart out
To show his love for you
Not the one who can wait
In the rain to offer flowers
Those are fresh and new
I can only sing a song of
Love from the tiny hut in
Which I live as a poor man
For your beauty I weave
Words into string of hymns
Needing nothing to gain
For you I can put essence
Of love in to dew that lie as
Beads upon bed of grass
Your feet will get soaked in
It and your face shine as
Morning's most beautiful lass
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem