Category: Poetry
We said good-bye, and the dearly loved hands
Gave me a handkerchief with an embroidered edge.
A present of my dearly beloved! She is always with me.
With it I covered my wound in a battle.
The handkerchief was tinged with blood,
Telling me about something dear to me.
As though my dear friend leans over me
At the bedside in the Field under the fire.
I never kneeled in front of the enemy.
I never retreated in the battles not an inch.
The handkerchief has the right to tell
About how I stood through for our happiness.