it creates hunger
crying for attention like the younger
may we ever receive enough,
will we all end up a love monger
feed every day we must
even as efforts seem unjust
our goals seek to be reached
to love or bust
few smiles we end up faking
emotions raw prepared for baking
time is in the quiver
an abundance for the taking
grab a firm grip
careful not to slip
as hot coffees' purpose
it's meant to sip
moving too fast may leave you burned
this, you may have learned
a game for the patient
spoils for the earned
delicate like luxury
as meticulous as well cut shrubbery
three words
spoke utterly
as the fire begins to cool
lonely is left the fool
for we are winning
the proof is in the jewel
upon the finger is where it rests
the story determines the best
the size, nor the color distinguish
the amount contained in the chest
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem