there was no decades time to write poems
no mentor no patron to show a way prepare a path...
unguided I gifted you six thousand plus poems
but these were only a few bread crumbs
to what I could have time written back in...
in the eighties I wrote the prophetic lines
read marvel at the dross
while too few mourn a greater loss...
behold storm wind listens
I would have Sibyl gifted you loaves
of fresh baked wisdom but all you would...
receive was a few stale bread crumbs
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem