Best Swedish Poems

I'm a 
Swedish beauty
Born in 
poverty
With eyes 
so green
And cheek bones
so high
You wonder
at the structure
Of DNA gone by
My hair is silk
running through
the breeze
And
If you touch it
your fingers wil
slip through it
My skin is tan
with freckles
woven in
and my smile
is white
with straight teeth
to look apon
at moons delight
and my...

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Soft and chewy, cute and red;
They won’t wedge in your teeth.
You can chew them and not fear
They’ll get stuck underneath.

Jelly beans and licorice
And taffy tend to stick.
Jujyfruits wreak havoc
So they’re not the sweets to pick.

But Swedish fish and gummy bears
Are perfect for a chew.
If you...

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Swesish Saga

Gerda left Sweden with an odd liking for turnips.
She claimed hard labor ruined her hands.
She hated her father.
Fritchof walked like an ex-sailor.
He had a vein-blue tattoo on his left hand.
He once sailed the Red Sea and grew a mustache.

They met in Vancouver. A brown...

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Swedish Flower
Hair blonde,eyes blue.it couldn't grow in dark and cold Stockholm without having sunny hair and oceanic eyes in it self.
if i had a Swedish flower in my garden i would make it warm with the heat of my heart and i would give it...

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As Swedish lightning enters
Renders day from deepest night
And (soulful) wishers beg
Mortgaging their tearful fortunes
For an ounce of pure spiritual bullion
With happy veins glistening
Truth, honor, sufficient respect
Among the smelted ore
Ready for mold and use
Pass me down
The spirit roars
Throw me selflessly into the frenzy
That needs the slightest...

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I am Swedish so I have no concept of warmth,
Yet my heart has been touched by a thousand degree

Gum was taken by cupid's spicy dart,
An amorous wind resting through Duino's trees

Who is his lover? Who has his hand?
Who will feel his lips when Mensa's food...

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I remember very clearly a rendezvous’! 
It was with a nineteen-year-old Swedish girl on holiday with her friend. 
They had a room in the hotel I worked in. 
My colleague and I, a barman, 
became friendly and we used to go out together 
That is...

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Filippa loved her bright-eyed horse.
His name was Fred, his mane was coarse.
They galloped back and forth to school.
When shoes got loose, she’d use a tool.

Filippa’s Fred was loyal and fine.
He was sixteen, and she was nine.
Swedish, they both loved life.
She played a flute. He played...

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