Swinging into summer with rhythms of melodies singing
gaily in minds of song.
Lulling imagination into false senses of security while
imitating varied notes.
Skipping along, pretending to know more than what is
real.
Truth gets stuck in between bones of measures and finally
rests after the coda.
(9: 31 p.m. - 1/2/08)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem