I'd like to paint you a picture,
But there isn't enough canvas,
To portray the way I feel.
And no colors could ever express,
How much I like you best,
Because unlike other solutions, you're real.
I long to sculpt a figure,
To aptly display your worth.
But how can hands create,
Much less describe a second birth.
Because that, indeed that,
Is what you've given to me.
You've deliquesced my chains,
Truly setting me free:
Finally an authentic release.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem