A flowing spring....Amidst the woods.
A fragrant breeze....Among all, thy goods.
A warm kiss from the ray, that Sun....
All be good, all tho' what fun?
Amidst all turmoil, yet, not, to shun.
Marigold carpets lay across the scene...
Ever flowing, as ne'er-seen.
Thy eyes set butted against thy self...
Tortured self, put upon thy shelf.
Read naught as a worn out book....
Ever ancient and well hid, as like a nook.
Oh so rare...And not, never to care.
This lost read...ever stare.
Wordily appraisal, never to sail...
Always tender and crying swell.
Beget thy past as passed tonight...
Beyond all dreams and sighed, this night.
Always escaping thy hand enswiped.
Always being as spied this fight.
Born of a single cell...
Born so warm and tended, well.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Colors, fragrances, sunrays, and merrigold well tended... what else can one ask for?