The sea waves splash upon the moors for years
and shadows draw upon the walls festoons
unspoken verse, conceived on silent piers,
the advent of our loneliness attunes.
The tenth of June remained so young and fair,
our minds' ascension to the astral reign,
blooms' multitude and fragrances’ affair
a purple thistle on the field and rain.
Remember then, our breezy song and laugh,
our holding hands along the Summer’s call,
we celebrated so, upon the wharf,
and acanthine became our dancing hall.
On every tenth of June my eyes embrace,
above the summer moors, your lines of face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem