hands flicker, the smokes hurries
And insignia like ice blows in appearance
So seated and commanding twisting joints.
Powers, so she use and sleep.
Cross like lights, like crowns.
And in moon, she exploit simile.
pair of simile, like smile.
married to a poet of the sun.
Seated in a throne, scrutinizing expected writer.
o' poet your tones are failing
Your flood is quited.
Take not my gown for a clown.
In this moon there is peace.
And my ink is agreeable to a moon cave.
And the election has ended.
Yet you are the poet.
No truth is bad as a poetess been a poet.
Posted to bright stool.
and good stew.
THE END
Poem About: Simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile, simile.
you title is amazing and the poet is too haha, write more of this kind
It is a good romantic poem with a strong imagination.'In this moon there is peace'is a charming description
the silver orb...the intriguing essence...all fit for a moon poetess!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This Robert Ebi's pen amazes me!