She fought against his,
in her mind the sound of only.
Even when he slept there
sweet and fondly.
Curly hair wet with sweat,
dripping drops of dew into
a rose untill it opens up.
The pot was always full and
spooned so kind the moon,
did fit just thus.
Turning over stars fall out the side.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem