i don't imagine sycamore trees
we don't have them
i can't imagine the sea-breeze bringing to me
the perfume of your hair
or remembering once that there was spring and that you were with me
not that i do not like spring
but because there is no spring here
and one last thing,
i can't remember you because you are no longer here with me
honestly what for? do i take another dagger and stab my heart again with
it?
how foolish can i be- that is what my friends are telling me.
i don't remember sycamore trees, and i have no plans remembering them.
we don't have it here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem