Bougainvillea blossoming, their soft and gentle colors flow-
ing into measures of rhythms, sounding delicately throughout
minds of creativeness.
Blooming into recesses of an ulterior motive, blending quiet-
ly as the afternoon deftly turns into an early evening here
in Phoenix, Arizona; particular moments of pleasure waiting
to be spent in depths of innate talent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem