Caminaría su hogar después de rosas que compran del trabajo y de hablar de Bechsteins. Ella era llena de alma. Su sitio pequeño gorged con calor y no había ventanas. Ella sacaría todo pero la los pantalones y tomaría los pernos de su pelo que los lanza en el piso con un gran ruido. Como Crete. No haríamos amor. Ella conseguiría en la cama con esas entrerroscas y mentiríamos sudando y el hablar de mi mejor amigo. Estaban en amor. Cuando conseguí tranquilidad ella pondría encendido generalmente Debussy e inclinándose abajo a las costillas pequeñas morderme. Difícilmente.
Volunteers needed to translate poetry into different languages. Please help us correct the translation of these poems. We currently have 79,663 translations and are trying to create the largest and most accurate database of world poetry translations. We have started with machine translations which are very inaccurate. Please translate your favorite poem on this site. You will be given credit for your translation and a link to your site if desired. COPYRIGHT NOTICE: These poems have been gathered and submitted by many of people, and from many sources. Most have no copyright. However, some may may have copyrights. We have tried to collect poems that appear on many external sites where the author seems to want to disseminate. If you are an author and do not want your poetry translated into other languages then send a removal request and it will be promptly removed.
Matt Damon
Ben Affleck
George Noory
Charles Barkley
Don Cheadle
Jason Alexander
Montel Williams
Raymond "Ray" Romano
Bibi McGill
Paul Gardener, Esquire
Jim "Supermind" Karol
Halima Rashid
Susaye Greene
Chantelle Paige
Katherine Kovin Pacino
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