My eyes, insanity of blessings,
He sees smthng in them, from the corner of my lash
To the depths of its vision,
He sees smthng;
An extraordinare , a face so soft to be imagined by a straye-r!!
A french poem woven into a curvey menniquin?
A heart of whom, bounded by endless fumes;
Of needs and desires,
Of countless sattire,
Of upside rotten days and nights,
Of forgotten rhymes,
N still he finds rich beautiful poem in her eyes,
A french woven attire!!

Suddenly she gulps the pain of being forgotten
Tear away the praising letter, turn her thoughts frozen,
Yet, inside cold castle still burns a flame
In lonesome night, of long sung-songs and fame!!!