Robert Burns
the one who turns
inside the grave
where poets, brave
...
So ruhig fliesst der Rhein
kein Fischlein denkt
kein Fischer lenkt
den Kahn fuer sich allein,
...
What a breath of fresh air
and a touch of sweet lips
back you are in my cyberarms
please do pardon my stare
...
Berlin, they say, is worth a trip
you come, go through the famous gate,
in La Taverna take a nip
where the Blue Angel had her date
...
My darling, I have a request.
Would you mind if I held you and pressed
both my lips and my face
to your secretive place
...
The infantile word 'infantile'
brings up in me a bit of bile.
The other word (he called it boring)
reminds me of him never scoring
...
That day I was in such a rush
I did not see her lovely blush.
How much they blush in the deep South
is quite unknown, but her sweet mouth
...
I met you, Sandra on a bumpy road
when I was strolling through a field of poetry.
Was passing and surrounded by much muffled laughter,
while flowers swayed and luscious corn stood watching.
...
At first you note a tightness and
your grip has lost its youth.
It comes and goes, at last it stays
you ask for diagnosis.
...