My desire to touch you has not been fulfilled
The birds of wooing thirst are about to die.
All the cutes and beauties are leaving me behind
I am no longer beset with green trees and blooming roses
My past youth and vigor make me not smile,
Make me not run up to the door of longed damsel
Like before, like the by-gone days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem