As the father acknowledges the child
Seeing his form in his child
So I in my verse
Blanket thrown in the night
Not to let beauty slide
Slide away
Seeing such beauty is sculpturing
What I feel as dusk tiptoes to night
I feel that height that beauty
Feels and over weep
Over
Over into Dawn of the medieval music, tiptoeing.
As the father acknowledges the child
Seeing his form in his child
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem