You once sat on my wall and talked to me;
I was irked because you spoiled my silly game.
The tender age of twelve was what I'd be.
Aged thirteen and I just don't feel the same.
Now you are a dream to teenage eyes.
Your dark good looks awaken teenage love.
I follow you, my head up in the skies,
I seek divine involvement from above.
If only you would turn and notice me,
Or sit once more and chat upon my wall,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem