This is where she moves and breathes
and has her being
and thinks and reads and writes
and lives her secret inner life
and this is where she sleeps;
Where I now sit in staggered unbelief.
And this is where,
I wish it were not so;
And yet I wish it were,
if I could be here to comfort her.
This, is where she sometimes weeps.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful, with masterly lyricism. Rgds, Ivan