Standing listlessly by an imaginative oak tree,
whiling away memories - long-standing - catching
my eyes.
Dreaming of their languid blossoms, blooming
tearfully within.
Hearts of purity and innocence feature themselves
in tabernacles of the soul.
Shining examples of past beauty, existing in the
present, looking forward to future times upon
screens of interior sadness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem