A bunch of scarlet dogberries in garth There on the faultline 'tween the summer and fall… It’s such a pity that I wasn’t a poet born So that I’d say how much with you I am in love. How it’s impossible for me without you to live… How day is empty when you’re not beside… Wish that I were with you, to touch at least with eyes Your lips, to be in love with you I wish… How it’s impossible for me without you to live!
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Posted: Apr 2017
About this poem:
“At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.” — Plato
Wish this poem, as simple as it is, were not just my translation, wish I were born a poet in real, so that I could talk, cause there is so much to tell! Thank you, Cafe!
Comments (3)
everyone becomes a poet."
Cafe
Thank you, Cafe!