on the hill top
Lived a prickly vine
Looking down
On a garden
With nothing
But a rose & a daisy
On a stormy windy night
the prickly vine
Barked On a journey
along a narrow, slick
And steep hill
suddenly,
A dash off - wind
blown
The prickly vine
Rolling and bouncing
Bouncing and rolling
After all that
bouncing and Rolling
the prickly vine
Bounced
on the rose
and rolled on the daisy
With his
bent prickly thorn
“flowering” the rose
And -blossoming- the daisy
know
The plain garden
Is dashing
With Little
roses and daisies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem