Roses blooming in thoughts of prose, giving me pleasure as
I watch them blossom, enriching this mind with plentiful
images.
Visions being contoured and shaped as they are molded from
tiny ideas, created in my brain.
As I walk aimlessly, looking around, always with a pen in
hand and blank book awaiting the many scribbles of intellect
to be written down for literature of generations to come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem