Love, there's an ancient quarry where bluebells grow
like sapphires in the melting snow,
like quartz clocks, they tell the time in spring
if-‘ere-you'd listen, you might-just-hear-them-ring
like a mountain Elysian blue spring,
oh, darling, do you hear an after-ring
and if so take-my-own
for now, I have loved - all our summers are postponed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem