She was the girl in a secured relationship,
Though, heading to its final destination,
Remained dreary and unexciting.
So, yearning for adventure and thrill,
To the stranger, passion pregnant, she turned.
He was the love loathing stranger, out for revenge;
On the top stairs to his breast silhouetted,
The dark cold dagger awaiting his victims' fate;
The piece he's pierced the hearts of so many:
Open arms, contemptibly, he welcomed her.
Out the window, an owl hooted; low, cold as death;
Followed by clap of thunder, then torrents;
Smiling, knowing no rain or shine could stop him:
At stroke of twelve, spent, and asleep,
He walked; another heart left to bite the dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem