Dad's boom box was a carillon
That filled His valley with sweet strains
Built of back yard melted metal scraps
Time and market savy
It was in part the harbinger of reason
That at his death his mourning staff insisted
On 'the good shepherd' being the motif to set in glass
Despite his lack of ordination by or for a flock.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem