Why do you hurt me with your thorny fingers,
When I do not even pull and hurt you,
But pluck you, when you sway with the wind.
The cold dews on the beautiful surface,
The elegant hips near blooming flowers,
The single petals perfectly arranged,
Each one of you uniformly differently shaded,
You are the symbol for love and compromise,
you are there to worship and worry,
When distilled to obtain a gram of fragrant oil,
Two thousands of you have to be sacrificed,
You are everywhere in the world,
Everyone welcomes you with open hands,
To hold your thorny stem and then,
Take you to their nose, The Rose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked this poem a lot. Keep it up. You have a talent