You said I was in your dreams.
The more engulfed and
Enchanted. in a good book

I woolgather the cosmos of beauty,
I die within solitude and
I get exposed to the morning sun.

As wrinkled leaf I fall on the Shingle,
Float on the ripples,
Ensorcel on the waves.

Succulent plant bust with
Vim and passion as they erupt in lode

Why desert plants dancing
With the large oasis?

Why writing about solitude,
Again you tell story about books?.

Why writing about rugosa,
And the cosmos?
Is it a confused poem?

Hon.Pamacheche Tapiwanaishe