Streaking cross the sky was the flame
gutteral was the word
i did grunt.
Guntress his mate wild insane of
passion well spent
into the pit went
the flame.
No word
Gatherer of meat and veggies tossed
onto the ground before her.
No intelligent sound could he whisper
the whisper was for you.
None other had the flame though sharing
her wild mane into next dwelling
went her.
With the flame.
Such knowledge passed down through
grace of crown.
Of such are Queens now made.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very true...well written words...thank you