My head lies buried
in palms of misery,
and my eyes fraught with endless water,
my heart is ripped apart,
surely gone to Davy Jones locker.
Like a thunderbolt
our love has come and gone,
and you, my lady
have left me forlorn.
Drowned in reminiscence,
bespangled with melancholy,
drifting to madness,
far from salvation.
We seemed a quintessence
of lovebirds,
an epitome of perfection,
you the queen and I the king,
overly in love
in our little domain
that now belongs to the past;
a memory fading very fast.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem