'Whoa- too much information
I cried, stopping her mouth
but succumbed many times
as the thunder rolled overhead.
Then I remember nothing.
In the morning she was gone.
The house was a bloody mess.
There was no fresh dress.
The doorbell rang. Who was it but Yin?
'Where have you been, my heart,
I complained.
'Sit down- welcome home again.'
'It's good to be home, ' she sighed,
'Yes, I'll do that, but first these bottles, ugh'
she cried, straightening the rug
and setting the kettle on for tea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
every thing in this world is paired yin yang. cold - hot have- not a good write