Your Brown Book is gathering dust darling
The lovely old words I seem to have no time for
Are the only ones that have bells with a muted ring
Because my lighted path is covered in thorns.
My Green Thumb and my avid eyes have grown lazy
Seeking things that are less than pure or heavenly
Looking skyward your clouded visage is cloudy, hazy
So I ask for strength and pray for a guided tranquility.
I also admit I've been less than what you know I can be
Let me give my full apologies and a silent prayer heavenward
For meditation, studying, and character building continually
Searching for my right place as your servant and steward.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem