Blissing the winds
The kissing of things
Aborted trials of my fair dear pen
Listening to writing of fear of then
Planting the hold to give a plea
Maybe today I will hear your friend be
Alone is the mist and hovering the tree
Climb up to hear
Its me coming near
Holding to your fear
I will be words said
I`ll turn up dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem