Sluggish and slow we tread on a slippery path
not knowing where we go not sensing where it's at
the wheels are turning threads yearning
arduous hands and feet they are all burning
a spiders mind is never bad nor kind
it does as us, weaving a fabric of dust and of mind
if it was only weaving such miracle called destiny. M
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem