A rose arose from the finest root
and bore a little flower
in the middle of the night and winter.
'What chance is that? ' was asked,
and as all had had a look in Isaiah,
everyone was sure,
her name had to be Maria the Pure.
A fine write with great form and structure. An iceberg is a rose, but could not sink a ship.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely little poem - you may like to read mine entitled The Rose.