Poem 1.

An angel, heaven sent

Maybe Lieu Hanh herself.

She was always there,

she pushes me away now.

But she says to wait.

I do so.

Her locks of autumn brown,

and skin fairer than Snow White.

Cheeks rosed into her complexion, a perfect view of heaven

and eyes greener than a summer leaf

Angel's worship,

and the ancestors pray.

I follow.

I believe.