A Desserts' gritty shoulder, as to the beautiful gardens, is turned with prowess- a badge achieved by the man in black; prowl
The apple as to the sweet ocular virtues, grown in the backyard of a turtle, addicted to the green walls; are fertile and comfortable, but with the mark of a wimpish pig- Big placid Armour
Seek the night and you will weep.
Bliss
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem