I come placing lillies at your feet.
But you keep nagging the sweet aroma.
Trampling on them in harsh and sullen,
You turn your face into a mass night storm, bridging mere relations,
in recognition of only equals.
Petals as fresh as ever known,
now equated to flushes.
Stalks left to rotten.
What soo little done, even by half bright,
though not heart clinching, lives a linger.
Embrace the face without the thumb,
and witness that yourself.
Nature knows why we aren't of same heights.
Untill the tree is off patch,
the house will know not
what waves it saved it from.
Someday you'l crave my presence,
but then, I'd be gone into the unknown
with that lilly of flushes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem