The evening sun set, as it starts.
Picnics, in the park. Candles, lit
in the dark. The sounds, of the meadow
lark. Are all a secret part. Of the
joyful memories, of my heart. When he
took me by the hand, an eternal flame,
he did spark. Underneath the stars,
he left his mark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem