Poetry Poem by Liza Sud
Poetry
You thought: she lies down and writes poetry,
And clever books is what she’s hourly reading...
Around her muses, serve in quiet bliss,
And with them the soul soars in empiricism...
My friend, you are wrong, if only you saw,
Where fruits of her thoughts she is tirelessly reaping...
In everyday vanity standing by the stove,
the laundry she washes she pours with the tears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/9/2024 11:26:06 AM # 1.0.0.1119
