At autumn pier, there we were,
Almost all solemn, grave.
Our mercies turned the old stone;
A bit deaf to unknown tongue,
Our souls told the verses.
Cheers Michelangelo, we haven't arrived yet;
Blessed are that trysten in hym, Wycliffe says.
"All gods ate and drank", we spoke;
"Abishaq held Adonijah guiltless warm;
Guilt must have had a way to pray own stead,
And swans got some of the blame ―
Whereby the Aeolian head".
Cheers Michelangelo, we're not coming yet;
Blessed are that trysten in hym, Wycliffe says.
A refined poetic imagination, Teresa. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well articulated and nicely brought forth from the heart. A beautiful work of art. Thanks for sharing, Teresa.