Come back to me before the springtime babes,
When Owairaka has her skirt tucked high into her stockings,
So as to tip-toe softly across the platonic shelf
Come back to me on a Monday babes,
When the blue world has turned beneath you
keeping the blankets all to himself
Now I'm standing naked
(with sores all up my legs)
And I wait for you to pray,
I hold aloft this flaming torch
And scare the wolves away
Come back to me in the sacred nightime babes
And we'll slide on home past a thousand sleeping souls
on the cold and filthy street
Come back to me like that pigeon babes
That I set free so many years ago,
Whose wings that I hear beating whenever I hear your feet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem