My soul longs for you.
Your rossy lips can be the first word of my page,
My heart is now filled with poetic sense,
What shall I write about thee?
One pain may fail to raise the praise
That's full of purity.
But I don't want to lose such fate
Where I can soak up my messy state.
Beholding your eyes of
I just want to engross me
Into your beautiful eyes
Oh dear, I'm unfolding my poetic state.
You are the desire of saints.
How lucky I could be!
How lucky I could be...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem