Whose flower is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch her frown. I cry hello.
She gives her flower a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The flower is mighty, heavy and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
Until then she shall not sleep.
She lies in bed with ducts that weep.
She rises from her bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in her head,
She idolises being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem