I was known with a name,
Writing this poem not be fame,
It is because of curious feeling,
On what others are thinking.
Maybe nobody glance at my words,
Or give a praising as reward,
But I still want to try,
Although my wings still wet to fly.
My poem like a flower,
That planted among high tower,
Did anyone see my colors?
Did my fragrance smell by other?
I hope that someone see my light,
That shine between thousand of stars in the night,
Feel the warm of my word,
Of the poem that I wrote.
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