Her loves are fill with Butterflies
She came with ream of trust
Her eyes endows with lies
Then came her witted smile
She threw a satchel of glass
Which end the price of love
When time she came with lust
The end of love will rise
As love will make her hate
Her life will turn to late
The sorrows she has inside
Portrait her deceit in love
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem