out of fog a full figure show
walking gently on her toe
tickled by sand we know
she never walk barefoot
from city; maybe boots
and so many more lofts
she's still got her shorts tight
showing navel with ring bright
shirt too short for all she got
she tried to pull down alright
this island we've seen much
please enjoy there's no rush
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem