I write and speak soppy poems to people much more readily if they're in a language that person doesn't understand.

I love Meg Bateman, also. Her one about the deer and her mother means a lot to me, but upon looking for it I find this, which ties in a little with the Neruda poem you posted recently:

An Ceist

Bheirinn a'ghrian dhut s'a ghealach
's na rionnagan gu tur
Ciamar mar sin as leor dhomh
mi fhin a thoirt dhut?

Question

I'd give the moon and sun to you
and all the stars
How then is it enough for me
to give you myself?