A poet, far from his beloved,
wrote a poem full of meaning
and, calling a carrier-pigeon from his loft,
sent it as a white dove to his beloved
It was a long flight
and by the time his beloved read the poem
under the lamplight in her room
its meaning had changed for her
with the course of time and the human heart
If the pigeon, midway on its flight,
had rested in our loft
to drink a little rain, eat a little grain,
and we had read the poem - would it have
any meaning for us?
Where does meaning go
when it is not here?
How does meaning change,
between a smile, a tear?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem