In your Zone I freely roam with heaven above and whispers below, the sweet nothings of thorns and thistles calling me home again, against soft petals velour roses in full bloom swollen rain drops splashing colors dizzily upon my brow. Rested I am, Atlas perhaps A bronze sculptured Thinking Man, alas maybe yet still A Willow Tree who weeps nevermore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem