Twisted petals of forget-me-nots
leave calloused hands unheld.
Dreaming days are never over,
not with love-laced words witheld.
Sky searching, soul stripping virgins
hope that God will say his grace.
The shining reflections of evergreens
imprint the image of Glory's face
In the minds of the damned, we are tangled,
and all other lifelines have long been mangled.
I've picked every forget-me-not in your garden
but you seem to have forgotten what happened
among the very flowers you grew.
So now, I'll hope that God will say his grace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A woderful, sweet and nice poem! ! ! I think I know this flower.I've seen it before.But, honestly, I didn't know its name.So I needed to search for more information about and what I found about it I'm lost in words to describe it.That's the beauty of the poetry in itself - as small as a forget-me-not but with a deep and strong meaning. And nothing better to describe all the beauty of the poetry than the flowers.We poets should make for each flower that exist in this world a beautiful poem for each one of them.And to give for each one of them a lovely meaning. Your poem is excellent, Monica... Congratulations! ! !