To A Mosquito Poem by April Lane
To A Mosquito
Thou seekest my hands so discreetly, wherefore?
Does your keenest sense tell you on them is blood?
If so, it is yours, take it please, I implore!
Would that sins could be washed off like common mud
And given to creatures more vile and mean
So all of the guilt they could carry away
And suffer the penalties, whilst I am clean
And have but an itch and a worry-free day
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 1:32:25 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Thou seekest my hands so discreetly, wherefore? Does your keenest sense tell you on them is blood? ... / Loved reading the poem with great pleasure. What a remarkable topic and its poetic treatment! Thanks.