Love does not leave with the fading of the day
Nor wither like fruit upon the vine.
Nor, will it caste itself to the four winds, or
In pride itself enshrine.
Love lives as we live, day to day,
minute by minute, until:
We have no more to say,
except
I love you!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem