Watching her bath,
I remembered
The innocence,
Of our childhood.
We used to create
Games by hand
With no pretense
Fun was all we had.
Watching her bath
I read her mind,
Wipping out stains
From curves and shape.
On my memory slate,
She is one of a kind,
From unique strains;
A unicorn to gape.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem