In an old church-yard
Against the pale walls of a side-alley
Lied a rusty old gate who's purpose
was not fulfilled, his torment from a proud rain
and aggressive winds shied its youth away away
With pity i had him in my thoughts on the way home
By the morning passing by he looked at me with a fading hope
In talks with the church minder for his sake
Attempting to have his dreams resurfaced
He told me the gate had killed seven church members
And was sentenced to life of uselessness
By the time the church minder opened his blink
I was ten houses with distance glances away minding my own business
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem