On her bed of leaves, completely saked, expectant and waiting for tree of no return to start fire for days from the night of lectures so that they could both relax with a good hard twist of fate.
The delicious folds of such green expectant bushes
Just thinking about his smooth tanned trunk, her large broad green leaves abreast and of course the tingle bursting sun just with it's energy you imagining all of it.
Even slowly from she it begins to elongate, the sapp rushes to his head and quick bud begins to raise itself directly up from the bed of roses from the rest.
She ran dry the river streams
and her skin tingled delightfully as the last ripples of the water rushes bye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem