When i Submit too your cross,
and the altar remembers me
not from you,
i took only warmth and less pity
whom for their comfort lives life
and white are the eggs and you,
before i was me
and it is going out much too quickly
come 'mother' treachery is cold
and religious each symbol; waits in utero.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem