I am a woman, human like anyone else,I have feelings, a soul, I have a heart,I fall asleep late, and I rise early,Letters are the pillow for my dreams.
Then I take pencil and pad, and weave a song,Pouring violet feelings onto the page.Sometimes sweet-sounding, sometimes heavy,A warm surge to echo through my works...
The years flow by, winding along paths,Through green landscapes lush with spring.My song makes its way into valleys and hills,With notes of singing and of yearning.
As long as he lives, the poet fights with his pen,To set down on paper impressions and pleas,His verses dipped in the hope he has leftOn rose-tinted mornings, covered in dew...
In verses I speak to you amid naked dreams,I wait to make them real in life, for you to read them in my works.
