I told her how much I loved her.
Oh, she laughed at me and she said,
I'm the last thing she'd consider loving,
Even after she was eternally dead.
I told her how much I missed her.
She replied how much she missed me, too.
So much she wished I'd just disappear
Like magicians on stage, quickly, do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem