Love the sun has over reached it's zenith,
and it is rising much to late.
And moon I see is scantly clad,
when yet my memories of it shimmer fade.
And yet it has filled the star lit sky like you when full.
The meadow lark Is lonely singing,
and warm the sunshine always was and Love it is.
Our nights grow cool,
and overhead the moon has reached it's zenith to.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem