through all hurt and pain
even in whirlwinds that tear the soul
or the sorrowful rain that maims the heart
I still hold so dear breathes that
unfolds the thousand voices
with which I sing your love
we are young under the sun
in the heyday of our prime
wounds of each season that are past
are grieves which pierced through the breast
yet still I hold dear breathes that
unfolds the thousand voices
with which I sing your love
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem