The moon's soft glow through frosted clouds,
Felt tarnished and worn like our love.
Twisted by our desire, shamed by society,
Meeting where the beds are well tended,
By the living who left long ago.
The silhouette of the trees gnarled limbs,
Shadows us, intertwined like its roots,
We feast on our love, separation starved,
Tonight we make our bed among silent dead.
For wedding bells chime tomorrow, toll my living death,
To save my father from prison, I am wed for his debt.
The judge, old and rich, my love young and poor,
Fate has dealt cards of woe, none we can ignore.
The moon's soft glow through frosted clouds,
Felt tarnished, worn like the ring on my hand.
A twist of desire, a child born into society,
To sleep where the beds are well tended...
And life his father could never afford.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem