a Rosebush grown astray
abiding, thorny weed
undying Crimson beauty
of Red that lets you bleed
through bramble, playful grins
to reach my hand will cry
yet pain- outweighed by warmth
a sun in open sky
for Love my hand will suffer
if grasped: decided Fate
a Red of conscious need
that distance cannot belate
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem