Where to sit in a vacant room?
Filled with stories of yesterday's with ideas that shaped the day,
then the next.
And what here? An item overlooked?
Still, my eyes fix on a new treasure sitting in the hall.
A girl with light brown hair.
'She's quite pretty', I think to myself.
Her eyes match the blue Colorado skies.
Her speech silences the room,
curious ears lean towards her words.
So delicate, she is.
This feeling is mystic, but well acquainted.
Next we meet, I'll have to learn her name.
That's probably beautiful too...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem