When on back in bed,
A woman is lovable.
When driven to be a meek spectator,
She is still more lovable.
When her word turn to murmur,
Her eyes are sealed with lashes,
Red doll limbs adjust voluntarily,
And sleep penetrates to inner nerves,
Thus driven to swoon,
A woman is the most lovable.
22.11.2002
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem