Watering seeds of ideas, tending them as they grow and mature into independent verses of reality.
Touching outskirts of imagination, stretching limits way past earth and into lands of make-believe beauty.
Naturally and ordinarily, confronting writing on walls of yesterday.
Beckoning hidden codes to express themselves once again, they answer in due time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem