In your arms I lay,
Innocent and calm,
A dove I was,
My presence
To your soul was dew drops
like flash,
Down I fell,
With a bang and a boom,
But believe me,
My making it was not.
The me of old,
In my marrow lives on,
Error they say,
To man it belongs,
So who am I,
This fact to evade,
But believe me,
My making it was not.
To you I run,
As fast as a deer,
My knees on the ground,
Forgiveness to lobby,
For to you I will,
As son remain,
Forever and ever,
So please believe me,
My making it was not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem