The moon with its beauty
Spills a sort of mystic witchery
Upon foams of tides that run
Back and forth like lovers forlorn
To me it speaks with a silent voice
Through dark thickets with long tress
Who is my lover is quite a mystery
And when I get at her dead I will be
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Unresolved mysteries make our lives interesting, Good Poem.