In the cold season of life, I am in love with The morning star and wandering clouds, with eyes buring with love, I have passed the grave of the unfaithful laylas, I have sal watching The garden with a lamp, water and mirror to greet the sun again. I know that it is a dying bird, but I hope that my next birth will be considered a blessing in the dawn of eternal blosso mining and growth, where being a woman, free from The legends of bread and shame in this precious borther and my flight will be remembered