I woke before her, and she slept on as the sun rose,
spilling light across our bed.
I stared at her,
she was perfect to me,
an angel in my bed,
and not the angel you see in a stained glass window,
she was the girl I would sculpt,
if given a thousand years,
and only a promise that she might one day come to life.
— a t t i cu s
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That's such a beautiful poem.