A new probable self working nicely until
allowed to write a poem, now she insists
on poetry instead of the work
she was assigned to!
Poetry is the opium of the mind!
Adorable stories, my heroines
take my breath away, hero’s
taking good care of them
A new probable self so enthusiastic
about translations; then a friend in
need of support, she saw me
writing and tried it also
Fell under the spell, now she is running
with a story, moved the fairies to the
computer and there goes the work!
I am quite flabbergasted
By a probable self
gone poetically
corrupt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem