lay on blue rose trees
breathing a dew upon my lips
a soft finger keep me quiet and sunk
slowly, softly, puzzled
boat doesnt acroos the ocean
not the ocean with deep passion and
and golden eyes drving medusa to a stone land
mysterious sitting there wondering, second
fade away, fade away, butterfly cross every fingertip
made of wind like bacchus garden drift, sway in billions leafs
oh is that a ship or just my illution trip
am I wake or I was having a dream
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem