There is a wind
that blows spears and swords.
It's been blowing
since the world saw
it's first day
and first night
sweeping susceptible souls
to where they abhor to be.
I know I possess no power
on my own
to withstand this wind.
But I beseech Thee,
oh, lord,
grant me grace
not to waver
but to stand solidly
till the trumpet sounds
or till my earthly journey ends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
grant me grace. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.