The less I think,
The happier, am;
Bullets, bayonets,
Frustrations dam.
The more I think,
I think of you-
Oh, what's a lonesome
Heart to do?
Histories bridge
Is burnt in twain,
And all my gladness
Turned to rain.
If I could charge
My living soul,
I'd go find yours-
And make mine, whole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem