What mystery lies beneath her crooked smile?
Keeps me engrossed as Agatha’s novels all the while
All Witful Thoughts rendered no to my dismay
Not a figment of intellect on the right way
Puffs of white smoke did no better than screwing lungs
Pints of beer just dried up my moist tongue
No additives could bolster my Imagination
Conquering her Enigma became my newest Passion
My Heart withered breaking the clueless puzzle
Hard as counting droplets of morning drizzle
Trapped in brilliantly engineered tubes of maze
Cannot break away from an indefinite craze
Even when my soul is consumed by raging inferno
The last bit dust of ash would struggle to know
Her depth that seized my heart for hollow pleasure
Would stalk until she gives up her hidden treasure
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem