Oh, my dear
Your love is a shut door
You're far away, and I'm not sure how to tell you that I love you
I'm not sure where it'll lead
I know nothing about you or how you would react if you knew someone liked you.

A very windy night
The wind howls, whipping against the wooden window
where the spider has woven his web,
and a trembling silence fills the air in the cottage.
The shadows have been summoned by the night,
and the light fluttering has been seen for miles.
Every dark, a young man walks down this silent road,
already familiar with the paths.
The rustling of the leaves through each traveler's walking shifts the night silence,
and the wind runs straight and knocks on the cottage door.

When the hot of your sun body touched this cold corpse of mine,
it was the beginning of another chapter of our seconds together and the beginning of our days with us,
last night within the worries of me
This poem was written so beautifully that it bloomed like a tiny red rose,
representing happiness within my unrest.
Squeezing your soft hand in my hand ended the moments of loneliness within this cold body and kissing your hands embraced the future of our lives.

When I was born, you were like an angel.
waiting for me to pass through the Heavenly door you just designed and constructed

The ivy in the yard, next to the grape tree, began slowly growing and falling for grapevine, eventually covering it.
They became entwined and put an end to separations.
Raindrops were felt on each side, providing a nice view of the area.

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A reminiscence of the cold and snowy days,
I had become lost in the arms of the night,
Quiet and arid
waited all night
wrapped completely in the dark
loneliness is given to me and only my one company
as I was lost in the vastness of the night like a pigeon
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is a low-pitched whisper
And the ability to appreciate the lyrics?
time has already passed within one nightmare
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awoke the next morning
feeling energized
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A flashback to the cold and snowy days

My imagination soars
and transports me to another world regularly
Concerning the fact that the earth has been the source of wonderfulness that has already come from a magical place in the sky,
However, The sky above is already gloomy.
Beamed with the flames of old grief and long-term hatred,
I am snatched by the wings of this dream that is a road
I'd like to walk through the nearby alleys, which are already nostalgic.
.
.
.
The sky has become much more painful as it watches the shakes of the despair heights in here,
but the earth is also present, to embrace the ashes of your corpse.
The weather is rainy, and there is obvious nostalgia for a nearby house as far away as a quiet cottage not so,  far away.
Poetry is an unforgettable experience, accompanying every second of the mind involved in my life.
The clock is a panic taker as it slowly counts down the loneliness minutes.
The sky has a word and frames it on a wall dedicated to causing the mind to begin another adventure.