The life has
Turned as hiss
Of snake bites
Bitterly in ribs.
My dear,
In me is lark
As birds to lock
In bare danger lurk
While to you me sight is lack.
My dear,
Losing my mom
Causes fire boom
And stimuli doom
But you in heart is happy realm.
My dear,
Indeed you Aysher
The glad in me as usher
You are the cleaner of pressure
You are really my wisher.
My dear,
From you nor message
Birth of this is massage
Neither call as passage
To mingle softly our package.
My dear,
You know I heart you
No intention to sow
Seed of hurt to grow
But to attain my vow.
My dear,
To win you hand is my promise
To life in pool in peace
Nor tedencysore neither eyesore as
Mart but real life is in happiness.
