The delivery of rotten fish.
And the smell of it described,
As a bouquet of roses that has arrived.
Depends upon the receiver,
Who sees and is made to believe...
Love remains in the air and shared,
Between those who know...
How to exchange with one,
Who will always refuse to accept...
Reality for what it is.
Regardless of how that message is sent.
Or what to others may be,
A scent too obvious...
To think of it being,
Something other than what it is.
"Boss?
You got another 'bouquet'."
-I didn't realize I was so loved.-
"Yeah.
And the note on this one says,
Expect many more to come.
By the ones who can not find the words,
To express just how they feel.
Boss?
Boss? ? ?
Is that you crying? "
-No.
No no no.
I-I'm just a bit startled and overcomed.
I had no idea how many approved my performance.-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem