The butterflies in my stomach,
Eating at my gut like starved lions.
The nervous sweat on my brow,
Hot as a wildfire, salty as the ocean,
It stings my eyes.
The breeze rushes in my ears,
And thunders like a raging river.
She chomps at the bit,
Ready as a rabbit.
A deep breath,
Crisp as the first frost.
This is the fair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A lovely poem. I like this one very much. Bien!