Home, lovely home,
A cave with a throne,
Where I sing my song,
And I'm rarely alone.
Descendant and offspring,
Companion, ancestries,
Guard like sweet angels,
Thank Them! So much.
Dispersing the thoughts,
To give out the Gosh,
For something not earnest,
No someday, No Now! !
Don't judge them, good fella,
It is what it is, with this Cinderella.
By Zoila T. Flores
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem