I want your message in a bottle.
I want your love saved up in sheets.
I want always for this bud to live fresh in bloom,
And for beautiful you irrevocably in now.
But alas, words, like flowers, wilt.
Papers tatter.
And smooth time swallows us all in night.
So send your shooting star over me.
We’ll dance the day into twilight
and –foolishly, enchantingly –
still step despite the black,
daring death to tread another inch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful imagery...and unfortunately true.