Before I take one last bow
Plunge it hard deep it go
I beg
When history writes its page
Mark me not a savage
But one who loved his girl well
Till to the trap he fell
Of being too fussy
In love’s jealousy
A trait that breed
Possessive greed
Pay reasons no heed
In love blind and mean
Doubt the virgin
And end up
Spilling misery’s cup
Cursing fate
Realizing too late
An act badly done
Killing the beloved one
Losing patience
To see her innocence
And then beg
The history’s page
Not to mark him a savage
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem