dead
is what dreams are made of
a broken wings of a dying dove
the thorns of a red red rose
scattered in the very soul of our ghost
lost in a velvet rain that washed by tears
adrift faraway into the missing valley
with nothing but pain and suffering
yes, dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
dreams are made of a broken wings of a dying dove the thorns of a red red rose scattered in the very soul of our ghost, very good poem. like this poem. broken wings. dying dove, soul of the ghost. tony