To not get trapped in words, words which inhibit love,

Focus on the picture, and do not say her name,

For many people know it, and they will use the same

Syllables that belong to her, and they, too, love

Her and her picture—if you hear them whispering her name,

You will be reminded how many love her like you do—oh, exactly the same!

You saying her name will be lost in a forest of cries.

How to love her? The lovely expression of intelligence in her eyes

Looks—not at you. Just so you know, without you, there is love

Between her and someone else, both issuing the most exquisite sighs,

Even if it is her looking at herself—can pictures love pictures?

Yes, I believe they can; hers, the love her love captures;

Her beauty is such, that it amazes herself. Not that your love dies,

Knowing she does not need you—but, yes, she is not looking in your eyes.

So how exactly will you write that poem that says, “Your beauty

Lives, it lives in love which loves and lives in love without me?”

You better start your poem of love now—

Before she gets up and walks away, seeing she doesn’t love you, and will never love you, anyhow.


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