As a gentle breeze in a quite meadow,
or a delight rain in a small valley,
love seems to comfort us,
in the midst of trouble it guides us,
we follow love like a burning candle,
our heart's desire is to find it,
it stitches itself into our lives,
and it stains our hearts crimson,
we called it love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem