When the flowers of beauty are plucked out
From tender earth, before they reach their prime,
Nature's moans are heard in booming thunder.
When sweet love is terminated before
it has chance to bloom. The universe cries out
In constant waves of deep lamentations.
When love and beauty die before their time
The world's deprived of fresh symbols and signs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem