A Draw-Well - Poem by Liza Sud
Spit into my soul, my friends -
I don't know insults.
How can I cry
After so many Sacraments?
What I would really like
Is to show you this happiness -
After acceptance of His
Spit into my soul-
And I will embrace you with arms.
Poor - you used
To spit in yourselves, dear.
But it is God who will wipe
How much in my soul you spit -
There water is by miracle cleaner.
Comments about A Draw-Well by Liza Sud
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You