Lush with green envy and earnest our truest hearts. Death is all sweet with a touch. Laughter as the days roll on by. The nights play out the empty shells to the mind. Insane the moon and stars will combine. Touch the lip with wine and a swig of that sweet champagne, but not a breath of mine. No, one will die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem