My pen is poised, I wish to write,
But the words have gone away,
When HE does not send me words to write,
I’ll have to wait for another day.
Or should I just jot down my thoughts,
Into verses for you to read?
An arduous task I set myself,
Lest with them, I inadvertently you mislead.
HIS words do flow with scan and rhyme,
I can scarcely slow down the flow,
But mine do come disjointedly,
And often flow too slow.
The will to write poetic verse
Is with me constantly,
Most nights when I should go to sleep,
I write more for you to read.
A final verse is needed now,
So my poetry keeps to its style,
Five verses of four lines each,
To greet you with a smile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem