But when I'm gone and time stands still,
You were the want, I'm wanting you now.
And of love, the wine in a chalice, not grapes of wrath;
like a rose as it opens.
But what of the fire, the fire that is burning, the sting of the
Ice, the cold though I'm yearning.
While as long as you live forgotten your not, the sun may go out,
The moon will stay full, perhaps empty not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem