To scenery's high-point I've come;
With visual aids, caught napping!
Throughout a rolling hills' outcome
Of tumbled roof-top
Into bay non-stop.
Soaringly, of gull, broke over;
Uproarious, wind-rode of him
High tide's. As one with it, in dream
There's less to therefore
Condemn myself for!
Apollo bay
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A creative piece with a unique style.
Thanks so much again dear fellow poet.