Her hair from wavering sands of the Nile
Upon her back once did descend and flow,
What ageless eyes could heighten still her smile
Adorned her brows with such seraphic glow.
And 'neath her treasure, in slight measure lay
Her bosom, raised by heaven's distant breath
Endowed with mercy, virtue and allay,
Her growing gift of life, bore death, his death.
And still below the chalice were two wings,
Yet angels now knew each weak walk of man,
The soles of her slight feet echoed lost kings
As absent time forgot her name was Anne.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem