Few are the fortunate.
Who come to know,
What it is to love...
That which they do.
Without this to choose.
But to feel it felt,
Incapable to refuse...
The strength and depth of it.
Few are the fortunate.
To know this feeling,
Too real to keep concealed.
Even if that attempt to make,
Was attached to a saved to age...
Umbilical cord.
Severed from a mother's womb.
After giving birth to what is loved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem