Chaste she was
with a skin that glows at noon
at night she shines like the moon
her voice silky and celestial
her backside rotund and well-shaped
a virgin she was
untouched and naive
when he came along
she fell to his woeful pleas
now, here she sits
heavy and sick
he is nowhere to be
her faith in her hands
what direction should she take?
She questions time
and sobs loudly
she pleads to nature
to have mercy
but, it seems too late
her plight, she must carry
her cross, who can bear?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem