I could describe you in colors, so I look at your pout, a rose patch. You blushed when our gray eyes met, then a smile that reminds me of happiness.

Now your beautiful face reminds me of the sun,
When she rises from behind many hills,
Dragging her golden blanket before the farms.
So if you would let me paint this muse,
I would imagine sunrise over wheat fields,
And the quickly approaching evening when birds fly home.