Flowing through mind and pen,
seven, eight, nine, ten.
Building structure and support,
my pencil and paper begin to court.
Flowing and falling my words do flutter,
the engine of my begins to sputter.
Interlocking and clocking the hours do fly by,
the words on my paper seem to fly high.
Flowing through mind and pen,
seven, eight, nine, ten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem