In that glas of wine that we shared one night
your lips have frailly painted - as the breath of life
all the things I've been and forever might.
My friend, the White Raven, asked me at the end
" Can you bear to unlove her soul as the tree that bends
under the thunder's light can stand the shout of it's roots?
I never aswered and nor will I
until I'l see myself in her inner eye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem