We always dreaded,
the little drops of red.
From the blade of silver,
on our lover.
Wrapped in a ringed moulde,
was our Gold.
Under a sky so Black,
We shall never turn back.
As the air turned time,
the night turned sublime.
With a gentle hiss,
and a lips kiss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem