Silently gliding through the outskirts of imagination,
taking hands with it's beauty and fantasy of mystery.
Living, breathing, and being enticed by it's excitement
throughout love and life.
An explicit poetical texture, unfolding gently, shyly
as I write of nature and anything else that comes to
light.
Wending and wavering my way into catacombs of yesterday,
allowing it to wind it's way through the present.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem