The death of Love does away with elegies
As there's litle left to bury
Save sweet memories and heart aching.
While in solitude your heart pines
As it yearns for her embraces
As it dwells on her love making.
The death of Love is an open book
With empty pages in your life
Full of langour full of pain.
And on its pages you inscribe
With deep emotion all past lovers
That you will never love again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem