This is so hard to find the words so as to tell you all I think of,
I am a long ways from being Rimbaud,
A long ways from having his eloquence
I cannot play with sentences so as to confess my feelings
I have not grandiloquence enough, then meantime here
Are the roses of my silence, all of my blank page poems
The most beautiful bunch of patience of mine,
I placed kisses on the branches
I scribbled all my notebooks so as to send to you my bare heart
But my fingers will never be capable of saying how killing your eyes are
When I rush forward, I go backwards, fear of ridicule just stands in for notch
Then meantime here
Are the roses of my silence, all of my blank page poems
The most beautiful bunch of patience of mine,
I placed kisses on the branches
I scribbled all my notebooks so as to send to you my bare heart
But my fingers will never be capable of saying how killing your eyes are
I do not know what use it will be, I do not even know where you are,
But if you are thinking a little of me,
Please, do not let
The roses of my silence wilt, all of my blank page poems
The most beautiful bunch of patience of mine,
I placed kisses on the branches