Silk threads in an empty room,
dead man swings on a gallows boom.
Innocence is lost on the floor and torn,
like a sparrow skewerd on loves thorn.
Unseen horror from darkness strides,
as a hero in bloody battle dies.
On masculine stake is constrained a daughter,
her childhood bleeds through loves torture.
Then cowardice turns emotionless away,
not to see mans sickening play.
“Daughter, daughter, make not a fuss,
better your pain, then both of us”
(© M.Snow (2003) and (2014))
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem