Before I write a poem, I must fall—
In love with poetry, with character apart.
And give my heart to them all—
Imagining a muse to guide my art.
In verse, I find joy and passion's fire—
At times, in rage, I lash out at my muse.
Our parting fills my soul with deep desire—
In sorrow's depths, my tears I cannot lose.
Yet I return, apologizing for each flaw—
Renewing vows, my heart to her belongs.
For love's a god, and worship is its law—
My soul in poetry forever longs.
I have no shelter, no destiny, but poetry—
Where love always meets my beloved with me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem