At night in bed
my darling said,
'You're as sweet as ever you were.'
'Your mistress of disguise, '
I replied to his obvious lies.
Giving credit to my reason,
he cooed into my ear,
'All past sweets lie still in you,
my darling, still in me,
and they will have their blending,
and we'll get...
...we'll get...
...we'll get...
...happy ending.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Perhaps blending is the counterpoint from which the essence is anointed.