Now, God be thanked with outstretched hands,
Made sure by clear eye, and forsaken gesture;
Leave the hungry minds and the sick heads,
And all the emptiness of the love that we breed.
This time my anger will whisper and weep,
Then my sick heart crumbles, frail and fair.
To be fragile is to thin out of love for the frail
And frivolous ones who pertain to just ways.
Under the lawn's mess of grass you wait,
Creeping behind, letting go of woes that astonish
And you wait with your frailty that is embedded.
Long health is the longest love of the tame and gentle,
Lover's wealth shall cause the other mate to prove itself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem