In as deep, deep sleep...
But yet woke...
Surrounded by beauty...
That gift, that woman...
Gods creation...
Queens a plenty...
Woman...there are not many...
Coming of age at a...
Young age...
Sharing all the world...
And its rage...
Doing her part on stage...
Born to be wrap in silk...
Queen-mother in her own rite...
Poor she is not...
Inner riches help to...
Deter the plots...
Cots made a wonderful...
Lay for pay...
A soul enlaced with beauty...
A wild seed...there were many...
Time give view to her real duties...
Duties of self...esteem...
Self...worth...
Self, self, self...
Is there nothing else?
Inward tears flow forward...
Smiles become frowns...
And back again...
And the queen within...
Wins...
Sun and rain together...
Allows the flower...
To grow...
Grow my pretty...grow...
Fly...
whisperkwane
swtlamb@yahoo.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I LIKE IT LOVELY......................