All kinds of his persuasions fail to heal
the wounds of his fair, rosy-cheeked soul-mate.
Hearing the tales of virus, she doesn't reel.
Her silence makes th' teller to curse his fate.
Her wants won't make her love to abate.
To romp home in their love, a day will come.
Till then he be in quarantine like a bum.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem