(My conception, and yours,
were truly immaculate.)
First, we are made of words.
Flesh and blood follow.
We were conceived not
when some wild and reckless
sperm swam past mind-boggling obstacles
to fertilize an egg,
but when our parents first
looked into each other's eyes
and murmured, 'I love you.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like this very much. It seems terribly romantic to me. Excellent writing and ending.