In her head she paints a pretty picture,
In her hands the palette of imagination.
She steps back after a years' hard work,
Only to fall at the feet of her creation.
I love you, she whispers, to the frame,
Held by stitches of wishful thinking.
All she has to do is look away once,
And the picture is already sinking.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem