Hello Michael,
standing over
there.
So mine.
So divine.
With your
crocodile stare.
Here's the girl
with the twirl
on her finger
made of hair,
the eyes,
in surprise,
to disguise
her every care.
There's the sun
that we see,
and we bask
underneath,
and it's you
and it's me
and the air so
very sweet.
And it's time
and it's toil
and it's love
all around,
and there's
Michael in
the corner...
without a sound,
without a sound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem