My love for you, my dear, is like this leaf:
it changes, never stopping, dear,
it flourishes then, dropping, dies
but never truly dies for it still is!
Matter! You see, it is the matter living!
Though I could crumble this to dust,
the dust would never stop existing
and history or purpose will not change.
The words upon this page will cease to be
though printed for a thousand years.
Know love's not made of words, but trees:
from trees to paper, dust, then trees again.
So many times our love will fall and rise
but love is matter. Matter never dies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem