Wind flushed a freshness upon your face
On a rock you stood
Like a mortal with immortal looks
you were my Achilles heal.
Removed from the beating boiling city,
Free of claustrophobic thought
we were leaves swirling on earth.
Hand smooth less tense,
we walked under bowing branches
A wedding walk, of Royal degree
Wooden well wishers with natural confetti.
Wind flushed we rushed into air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
an inspired scene, Vincent. I really enjoyed this piece, especially 'Wooden well wishers with natural confetti'. excellent work. -Tailor