After a lovely queen of France,
with a hope to be happy forever,
her mother named her, Beatrice,
and prayed, she will never suffer.
With green brown eyes,
She looked inside my heart.
Beatrice, I'm good and wise.
Your heart, I will never hurt.
With sad voice she replied,
my heart and soul are closed.
In the past, someone stupid,
in sadness, my heart dropped.
Beatrice, again you will go!
Can you wait until I finish?
I will change your black to blue.
maybe your pain will vanish.
With a bag in hand she smiled.
My only cure is travelling.
I'm a bird, free and wild.
My life is to fly and sing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem