Some say get over it
others never do
I like better the taste of honey
as all do such as you
vinegar as child in the south
I only took by spoon
but the swamps
were my calling
I knew the spoon would
do for the
skeeters partook
of me not
Being as it is that I am
my hand or cyber word
such disgust at that
when a hand for my word
I can't keep your grace
though you know
me not
Such a short time I've got
I have done with
What I have the best
that i can
overtures some have sent
my way and
Great full you have no idea
the manner of worth unto me
I was pleased more
so even the birds would sing
For the purist of you all
if a year longer
of you
I would have so know
you pray tell overwhelm
you this much from
your writing
I've received none of you here
can be held in that light so
many friends
I wish of
you all
Good speed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem