My life is riderless,
Of prophesy it is bare.
Green meadows turn to bog,
The gallop succumbs to the mire.
Step back - Quick!
I hear her thoughts,
Just and honourable,
Devouring themselves.
A wolf howls at the moon,
Who stole the wilderness?
The mocking gods look down,
And the wind bites, like kindness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
love poems that when i'm through reading, i want to read them again. there are so many styles to writing, but i love poetry that weave their words to convey a thought and they compell you to see what meanings in them you can discover...thanks, renee