Often met first with eyes
Dark mysterious crevice
Entices nostrils in.
Fingers, tongues, they follow.
Tales unfold
That were untold.
Disgust, it soon takes hold.
One, too staunch for hate,
Tale-tired for toil,
Tells with flower-matching ribbon
What she's made of love and Fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is an intensity and honesty here that is intergenerational but belies our revultion and ultimate acceptance that generational experiences are common throughout the ages and truly new experiences to humanity and the range of emotions is rare.