Wind whispers to a rose,
'Marry now! , little queen! '
The rose shakes it's nose'
Saying 'He is so mean! '
'How so? ', the wind wonders.
'Buzz, there he comes.
I plead for water
But never get some!
Little by little, I get dry,
beginning to cry.
Tears flow to my thorns
And my love is torn.
What if I pass away?
Will he comes to my burial?
What will he say?
'I'm sorry'? -go away! '
- One Whistle -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem