Her Voice Poem by John Florio

Her voice is sweeter than the cuckoo,
And comforting and loving, too;
He who hears her voice for a while,
Becomes happy and gets to smile.

Either it is magical or celestial aid,
That I went mad; love is laid;
The more I hear it, the sweeter it is,
Never satisfied, I always miss.

Neither of human, beasts and birds,
Nor of instruments, I ever heard;
Can make the sound like of my lover,
Hums in my ears over and over.

Angels and demons praise her voice,
Proud of her that she is nice;
Thank to the Creator that she's loving,
Until the world stops revolving.

Several times a day, I call her phone,
When I am free and being alone;
Living is hard until I heard her voice,
Ever long for it, and is my choice.

I always wish she was in my arms,
And she, be my morning alarms;
Together for ever we shall move on,
And our dreams come true soon.