I am writing
I am writing this
With the tears
Of my eyes
And what is this
this is nothing but
The sorrows
Of the world
O my dear, this
Sorrows are nothing
But your testing
And what for
This testing
This is for nothing
But for love
But for devotion
For which the flowers
Blossom for which
the bird sings
For which we live
For which, O my dear
You appear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem