To many to wear
soul grows old
Trodding the misty
smoke filled road
No where to go back
but home
Casles have long since
been burned
I curse not my Irish lineation
coat of arms long since gone
Lions at the gate cannot
any longer abate
Cannot see would so appease
the cross of the line both
have seen
Ribbon in her hair cannot see
for my destiny is in and as such
to much
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem