As if my name be given,
Was not enough for poorly living
Upon quested floors and paths
Don't get me wrong, do the maths
I abide no law, I am flawed
Resting nervous on bed of straw
My wings are clipped,
My bones have long slipped
The shape of cowards stoop
My will to desire and fate to snoop
I am but lies and eventful death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem