She sang me poems of love, Words that made me feel cherished. But there is no true meaning to poetry, It lies in the heart of the listener.
She sang to me, 'But let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.' But, little did I know that she hid an entire universe in our togetherness.
She sang to me, 'Love is like rain, life flourishes and grows after rain and love.' Yet, little did I know that she was still drenched in yesterday's rain.
She sang to me, 'I didn't fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open.' But, little did I know that she had fallen down and been hurt.
She sang to me, 'I carry your heart with me, I am never without it.' Yet, little did I know that her heart didn't belong to me.
She sang to me, 'I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach.' Yet, little did I know that she possessed many souls.
It's great to have your love sing poems to you, For she is like a poem herself, Full of beauty and depth, And yet, like all poetry, with no one true meaning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem