Love had sit on her own void of task,
Dangling in her hand was the jewel-d flask.
She'd made a vow of being alone,
Before a man comes and have her in foggery enthroned.
And when the corronation is done,
That all will as fun on her dawn.
Thus, she did made a closure,
And her heart she bid a composure.
Then came a wave bearing a veiled being,
Perhaps a spirit, dead or living being.
The handsome lad made for her way,
Who knows if to cobble lies, he'd to say.
Then did love made herself stern in her looks,
Which neither moved him: For another motive was he on an outlook.
18: 03: 06: 11: 05
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem