On a ship going to the stars
painted in blue and white
and with sails threaded of gold,
on which, angel feathers are glued,
you're forcing your heart to go with you
to a barren land, where love cannot grow proud
as high as the flowers grow
here in my heart.
-Be honest with me love, you're leaving me, aren't you?
-No my dear, I'm setting you free. she says..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem