Dying alone on foreign ground,
death grips his blessed hand
Never choosing time or place,
method certain
—the Angels plan
An oak to fall on alien soil,
all seeds to heaven thrown
His words cast free to light the dark,
that ‘Good Night'
—now his own
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January,2017)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem