Bright 'twas the moon that night, 
with all the stars in the sky.
 
 I was all alone, 
with my back to an old oak.
 All i held in my hand was a letter and a rose, 
a letter from my beloved betrothed.
 My heart hurt, my hands shook, my eyes filled with tears.
Enclosed in the letter was all my forsaken fears.
 As i read my heart filled with dread, 
as the letter said my betrothed was dead.
 My heart hurt, my heart bled; 
My betrothed was dead.
 The rose i had in my hand, 
i held it close to my heart.
 And as i held it upon my heart, 
i rocked myself as i cried.
 I whispered his name under my breath; 
in which made me cry more.
 I soon began to squeeze the rose, 
squeezed it with all my might.
 The rose bled upon my heart that night, 
 it bled as i cried.
 I kept squeezing, until i could squeeze no more.
All pain had left me until i was no more.
 I fell to the side of the tree with the rose grasped to my heart
and with tears stilled to my face.
 All i could hear before my last breath and my eyes closed, 
 was a wolf howling to the moon.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                     
                
What a pity......