The little furry figure on her purse
decided that it could be worse
he didn't have as much to dread
as all the congregants
who stood and knelt and sat
instead
his wide-eyed honest face
if they had chanced
was not confused
the certainty of no eternity
doing something he couldn't comprehend
and he dangled and jiggled
in a sort of dance
exultation as another homily
staggered to it's close
it never stood a chance
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem