We found a flower, on vacation, up a hill
Was unknown, know no species
or from where it originates
The beauty of the flower drew us in
We then, right there decide
To give itself a name
Quite we became
And suddenly it came
The flower was as white as snow
Diamond heads with a velvet flow
Aroma...mmmm...a sweet temptation
We almost forgot, we on vacation
The first voice shout, The Morné it is
A second voice, his skin too dark
The third voice says, with a soul so pure
We made up our minds, The Morné it'll stay
(Morné de Bruyn...1980 -2013)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem