The rivers' flow,
A majestic glow,
of Blue, an white, and green
And washed ashore,
Like driftwood boards,
is a symbol from the sea,
And what it means,
comes to dreams,
In a sleepless summers' eve,
The story I'm told,
By men so old,
Is the tale of you and me,
A screaming fight,
In winter's night,
howling like the wind
And for what its worth,
Your still my curse,
But I miss you all the same.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem