This is the love for me.

The idö spins round flits above my head,
an autumn blows it onto my hair breath.
Get old, than everybody else,
But szivemben throbbing love wonderful.

Although forty are évessen, but yet not old,
A bar shows on my difficult step.
Szivem, it are left over always young person,
A summer thunderstorm is fresh.

Who his companion himself made a choice beside it,
He does not turn into a memory for me only in that manner.
Drawn szivem mig throbs,
He lives in poverty for him till then.