would you write your best
compositions, perfected
heart song and head thought,
coming from ones brilliance!
and then take it down the
hall and turn it in to God's
secretary and say,
Me: 'I'm done with his next speech'
Ella: 'we appreciate you'
Me: 'bye'
and then go home,
with no pay,
and hear Him clamor the
grand message to a
healing, unified world
and give no credits...
hey, who has IT
in them?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Cheap, ungrateful Genie. No wonder I don't believe in him. : -)