It could be simple, it could be special
It could be little, it could be bigger
It could be a thing, it could be everything
It’s what we found, it’s what we lost
It’s what we kept, it’s what we left
It’s the reason we smile, it’s also the reason we cry
It’s priceless, it’s pure
It can’t be replaceable, it’s unexplainable
It’s beautiful, it’s painful
It’s the need, it’s the feed
It’s the dream, it’s the obsession
It’s mine, it’s my precious Art of Precious
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem