A little eye not made by man,
all woman seem to have.
Available to none but honey bees.
Clinging to the rose are butterflies.
If only screens were made back then,
and when tomorrow comes.
I hear a voice inside my head that says hello.
Honey sweet cornbread is made each day.
e.d.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice piece and a fun to read. Lol cheers