Do you fathom what you have done?
By penning a poem that refuses to be unsung?
Sung melodious, sung deep, sung from the sun that shines in deep?
The soul becomes an orchestra and plays to your timeless hark,
Oh Bard of Bards do you fathom what have you done?
By penning a poem that refuses to be unsung?
I don't have your heart, I don't have your soul
I am done with because I have a wee bit of your emotional stroll,
I don't have your muse, I don't have your lover,
I am strung with your poem, It sings me for ever.
It plays me like a flute, it strums me like a Sitar,
It leaves me kissed, cuddled, smothered, gasping for a fresh heart.
Oh bards of bards do you fathom what have you done?
By penning a poem that refuses to be unsung?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem