Most women poet's are soft,
And claim
That they like a man that is hard.
A few take,
to long to properly develop him.
He fall's asleep,
On her hand.
With her soft hand she can stir,
Him on up to the top.
She is cunning and amused,
And a mist then cover's the land.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And said the Poet to the Anointed...'The cream shall always rise to the top'...As does this fine paradigm for metaphoric verse...Awesome! ~FjR-'16~