Often I find myself incline,
To write my feelings down in rhyme.
About my love that's never returned,
Rather like, that, of a lover spurned.
A love that somehow, gets ignited.
A love that is deemed, 'unrequited.'
The fault is, I wear my heart on my sleeve?
Only to be let down, and left to grieve.
With feelings of emotion that overwhelm,
Really, I must learn, to take control of them.
In the past there's been one. Maybe two.
A Miss Estelle and one named Lou.
I blame not myself for knowing what I like.
I blame not myself that after all, in spite,
Of my friendliness, gentleness and ecliptic taste,
My love just seems to get misplaced.
I've lost my love to grace. Not favour.
I've lost my love whilst others savour,
Their perfect love and unions, united.
While my attempts at love, are unrequited.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well thought and well presented, Enjoyed reading it. Thanks