Rose is for its thorn
For I shall bleed
When I love to death
What is beneath
An arrow of stealth
For my heart be torn
Chasm not be sewn
For I won't swathe
What I shall not shield
Sedative is the wine,
No other cure I own,
The one is the catholicon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem