Faced with a path diverged into four,
to turn back was a option, but not as once before.
The sky crept upon the moon turning it to night,
as the air slightly strickened with the feeling of fright.
With the darkness aproaching the chill followed too,
'with the cold death will follow 'as it was said to be true.
The swamps fog had risen from the earth to the sky,
breath shortly stopped at the sight of satan's eyes.
Dressed in all black from the head to the toe,
suductive as it appeared to be her touch had said it all.
Evil slipped into his mind and sin had taken toll.
He made a deal with the devil and now she would get her due,
for he knew his fate in years to come as he sang his crossroad blues.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A bit mysterious, a bit devilish, loved the shades of Robert Johnson. Peace, L&T