The skin of the ripe peach...
pastels of lemon, saffron, pink
and gold, with a touch of crimson...
the fruit gift inside is gold or
pink...
so who can say what color peach is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
pressing against my mound, no longer Dragon is she just fuzz but laying upon this hungry mound, locks of gold, redidish and brown curls that hide the breeding ground of this peach, only a dragon can part this peach apart, only him, he who can part the pedals of my peach to see inside. good bye my love answer me dragon