She like's the look that's on my face,
My agony she knew.
Because each candle she blew out,
a new star reappeared.
When in the end and looking down,
upon her shiny wrinkled face.
Her eyes they were then,
more than mine.
Which only glass could simulate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is really interesting, IIP. The eyes thing is so crazy and cool.