there are certain things that inspire
and rain is one of them
and your soft kiss was like the muse
infused with images
then the sun painted the bland clouds
with a firestorm
and your eyes flashed with secrets
known only by you
there was heat in passion and desire
and breathlessness
so when wind blew over the water
there was a question
and when you vanished in the snow
in dark silhouette
then the song was a violin weeping
with grief's melody
and the last burgundy of the maple
gave up its leaf
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem