She doesn't mind the great length
or the girth of it.
Bushes without leaves
are not green as he kisses it.
The woods
are not deep without tree's
that are seen.
While the path that she walks
he chose in her dream.
Stopping she dropped what it was
that he picked.
A daffodil that bleeds white sap
if too hard it is picked.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem