Beauty is always
in the eye of the beholder.
'Cause she would be Beautiful
in anyones eyes.
She could stand on a mountain top
open her arms & the rains would stop.
And with just a flick of her finger
the Sun would Shine.
But Alas Alack
she could never be mine.
For I am much too lowly
to even raise my head.
But in a soft, unuttered voice I whisper
I love you
instead.
(1998)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem