Faster than wildflowers you have grown
in unique beauty, you turn as a sunflower
to face the sun whose rays dance in your
presence. Pure ivory dotted in Irish freckles
that rival constellations in night skies.
Graceful she soars with the trade winds
blowing warmth across all in her wake.
Rising more beautiful then her final kiss
of the eve of night. Eyes confused with shades
of green so perfect, they have yet to be named.
A small part of me, the best part of me.
My very own crown jewel, perfection
cette jolie fille de la mine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem