We use the eyes to see
And they see with much brightness
The way she flows on feet.
If God had given her wings,
She’d outdo the birds and the butterflies…
How beautiful the hairs blow…
Cars sending them wind when time to GO
Do her eyes see ma curved figur?
Or am I blurred out by smoke?
Don’t know…
No mo lonesome me
I want mo!
Now she let herself inside the door…
Poor lonesome me
On dirt floor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem