there is always time
to write about a white butterfly
how it flutters early morning
from leaf to leaf
along with some bees and
bluebirds,
how fragile how light
how gentle how bright
how time flies like a paper
with the wind
how restive are the eyes upon
the meadows of the plain
there is always a chance
to write about love and affections
the warmth of the sea at night
the hush of the breeze
the calmness of the moon
the sleepy waves
how i wish there is us
here, i touch your lips
i ask you: let us savor this
privacies of silences
kill me with happiness
i am yours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem