Hear, she is here.
Speaking, working, peaking.
That of which she spoke,
under the pillow of hope.
Breasts, I am sure of white ivory.
A glow in your eyes most can't follow.
Red is the colour you, I coloured,
leaves that part on both sides.
Here she is, she can hear.
Peaking in time to a rhyme.
Working at speaking her mind.
Sensible a well bred woman.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem