I know how to recite the rosary
In my brain, I bare a saint's glosary
I have mastered the holy scriptures
And all the verses to me, are pictures
I do hold all priests and prophets sacred
And to none of the brethren do I bare hatred
All over the place, I am a church icon
I cloth my soul with prayer
Just like my daily wear
Surely, I must own a fortune
In the angel's most favored tune
I watch the empty cross - christ risen
But I must say my soul is frozen
Though to many I remain a church icon
I might be a church icon
But not a saintly beacon
Innumerable sins flock my courtyard
And guilt always pulls me backward
And just like a repentant sinner
The empty cross makes me a winner
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great flowing poem.