Under the light of the silver moon,
Aspen was playing an angelic tune.
Under the light,
her voice will rise,
and will attract every bird that flies.
Everyone heard her distant call.
We will travel, but will not fall.
We found her in the middle of the forest
playing a piano covered in flowers
of the florist.
We travel back, and never fall,
as we heard her angelic call.
Under the light of the silver moon,
she will forever play her heavenly tune.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem