Our Love Isn'T At Ease Poem by Bozhidar Pangelov
Our Love Isn'T At Ease
Our love isn't at ease,
just like the wind in white acacias
and like a bead on child's hand,
it's not at ease.
In it they miss - wonderlands,
delights, flame and solace.
And none of us will call it my own
before it passes us on slightly.
And it will stay somewhere - far away,
unapproachable, uneasy.
And yellow leaves will whisper in snows.
Our love isn't at ease.
It isn't at ease.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 8:30:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
