The old tenant listens to the secret whisper in the decaying flat;
'The householder change the flowers when they depressed
And she brings another bunch of fresh flowers.
I am really fed up of this monotonous routine and I wait anxiously until the day when she introduce everlasting shrubs.' Pot cried.
In the language of flowers, this one is enchanting. An original mind is certainly at work in all of your poems. Very unique, as always. My applause, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fun and clever piece; I guess everyone and everything need their own space and quietude; nicely done. -Joe