proudly I look to the mirror
pretty is my dress though small
but stand with a gaze of terror
for there I found a hole
oh my dress how dear
my pains and wounds you cover
now all I have is fear
that hole should make me suffer
many holes have been and gone
with rags i had them hid
but now the threads are none
my dress is now so dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem