Open me up on June,
Summer is a surgeon.
The roots of my herb are
Inside the body then.
My secret is safe so,
As my feet and mouth rise
Into heavenly grace
Or should I be enough?
June was electrical,
Lively, ordinary,
Bones and body parts shown.
I love being missed all.
I just hate being it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem