Tender love has fallen
bright and light,
in the eyes of a conquerer.
Desperate, late at night
where his wounds sing a soothing song
unable to break the tide of lonesome dreams
He sleeps,
then fades
wishing a part of me would live within him, swaying, soft
like apples in the rain,
like purity, like song, like love,
and unlike pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem