I could make a blind man see the sunrise
And feel the light of that gloriously glowing half-circle
As it creeps from behind a stark navy sea.
And the unspoken oranges and heavenly pinks
Awake from their slumber to smile.
I’m confident that I could describe the fire in my nephew’s eyes
As the twinkle on a glistening Christmas wreath
With his laughter filling the room fuller than any wrapped gift
And that sweet innocent smile commanding all that any had to give.
And if I could describe perfection,
I guess the whistlingest wind in my sails could only be
Your fingers tangled in my hair
And your loving eyes
Staring always at me.
And tingles on my skin as your fingers stroke my forehead
as my smile of contentedness forever refuses to fade.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.