It's her most precious possession;
Bordering on obsession,
It fills her with pride;
As she walks she seems to glide,
As if on a bed of sunrise;
It goes with her every guise,
A bare essential;
It causes her joy exponential,
And with a snap of her fingers;
You'd think a flash mob of singers,
Would appear to convey;
How this is her way,
The little things that make her;
Like a tiger is known for its fur,
But it may as well be her lure;
Example of what she could procure,
From the very nothing of blue;
A flower; a necklace; a shoe,
Extraordinary trimmings;
Assortment of playthings,
To make wonder and inquisition of her,
But you should know for sure;
You'll never be for her this;
A thing of cool; a thing of bliss...
(05/01/2010)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem