A rose
Arose from the finest root
And bore a little flower
In the middle of the night and winter.
The rose-fanciers' club,
Seeking Since Isaiah,
Declared,
'Ave! Maria The Pure! '
'Could we aim a little higher? '
Urged Seekers not so sure.
Be it dream or introspection we may only aspire to perfection and yet it lilts a beckoning plea, come dance, come dance and to skirt around the unattainable.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful verse penned.