Sexy strawberries,
hiding under wild grass
with that sly
nude blush, of
champagne-kissed pink,
suggesting. They crave
your feel so, hands
groping illicitly under
the green cloaks,
reaching slowly
for your naked touch.
They are children, and
they want
strawberry-pie, and
they are completely
unaware of your
modesty that they
have silently intruded.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem