Years pass by and they seem like days,
Of our youth, bathed in the Sun's rays.
Uxorious I'd be, and all praise
Arising, would belong to thee...
Reality shatters Harmony.
Even though I ask sweetly,
'Please, can we just not always play
Everything is like yesterday? '.
Revel a moment in myst'rie.
For Imagination oft gives way,
Effectually, when we just pray,
'Christus, thou wert thy Father's Ray,
Take, I beseech, the pain away? '
'You are perfect.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Pain like self-immolation.