No sentiments found here will smelter a tear
A torch, a flame of desire
I am afraid my passions have all been extinguished.
And only the sleet on another night's sleep,
Still tepid lingers in my eyes.
The iris of which reddens to a blotch of blood
The blood of a rose that will never again, open.
That is now too chill, too froze, too ill
It will keep its hearts fire.
Till the thorn of love, throbs blooded once more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem