There’s scarce a day that passes,
When poems I do not write,
It’s pointless putting on my glasses,
When to write, I have near perfect sight.
Why do I have this urge,
To pen my thoughts to you?
Why must these thoughts rhyme and scan,
Without much ado?
Why has HE given me this new skill?
I did not have it before.
I could not write a single poem,
Before I did take ill.
It seems it is a Compensation,
And for that I must give Praise,
To HIM who gives us Good and Bad,
So my Faith will endure for the Rest of My Days.
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 27 September 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem