A rime of sweet on her lip
sliding like dew in the moonlight
Yawning with moan and
whispering with sound
and stretching her hand
to hold my arm.
Night had been passed its nurture moment
She became sweet and silent.
I made love and She did too,
fought the battle with morning woo.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem