Colors, meshed and smirred in form,
only as free as one's mind.
Closing her eyes is a world unknown,
but rarely ever unkind.
Regardless of the skies,
blue, pink, red, grey.
a time to come into her mind
to see just what she thinks about as she lays.
As flowingly as oils,
and as free as a brush
alone to ones self-affection,
she keeps alot into herself
with a great hush.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
dont be a stranger my darling. please.