The trees once forgot the warm Spring in the Wiskful emptiness of my
Assertation of The Wealth of The depths of Your Warming Heart on a
Mountaintop I climb to meet you there.
The rockstone and brick cannot be but the distance to meet you from the
pier of the vastness of your Innerpeace, an Ocean of which I've been been
sailing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem