'In my praise make a rhyme or line,
For your love's sake by virtue of thine.'
I am not a poet, seemed quite tough,
But tried my best and made one rough.
Read, re-read, did a good revise,
Polished and colored, yet not a fine device.
Thought time and again in day and night,
Simile or epithet -what should be right?
Searched in my heart, there couldn't reach,
Asked for help to my dear, she might teach.
And it worked, she became my Muse,
Rhymes began flowing, fine and huge.
I fulfilled her wish after a year,
And thought to ask, 'How about it dear? '
I made a rhyme, the best I bore,
Oh, she couldn't hear, she is no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem