Wreath

I wove a wreath for you from my verses.

In memory of your tears, as clean as well.

Dedicate to you for reading me long verses,

and talk about what hides behind the poet’s sadness.

To you for teaching me that life is a castle.

The shrine was made and presented by the creator. 

For laughing while reading my initial rhymes.

To you for teaching me to hide the name of my beloved one.

To you who extinguished the flame of your life with your hand.

Your tears for unborn children and your unhappy love.

Your heart that hardens so many blows is like a stone.

Your mortal hour drenched in blood.

Instead of a vigil, I give you a wreath of my verses. 

At your grave, I will read you a sonnet, my debut.