A few more
Days
It will be
Christmas
If
Ever we get to it
Let me put
The incense in the
Shrine
Before the altars
Of
Chance and Probability
Let me pray my gods
As my faith taught
Me
My beloved mother
Amalia.
Through thick
Through thin
We
Maneuver a way
In to the trammels
And
The intestines of the
Conscious rages.
Let the days pass.
Let the sand
Slip.
Yes, it's age.
Let
Let, my Monsignor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem