The morning sun goes up
With pain loaded in its core
It is old and senile and cold
May fall on to the hard floor
The morning sun has now
A broken heart without love
It spills tears of fire when it
Feels sad and weeps above
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There's something about this poem. I've read it several times now. The sadness just seems to hover. Truly loved it.