Her form holds the scent of Jasmine,
Slight like Laura Wingfield and fragile
as pieces of a Crystal menagerie.
She moves,
as if balanced between dihedral angles of light
(like a star's dance of radiant energy)
with an alluring smile,
warmer than meadows of wildflowers
on an idle Day in Spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem