Oh but rider he has come,
as pale as the wishes and prayers of the some,
a will of he to break,
a soul for he shall make,
a poison to his mind for maggots left to take,
a burrow in the sand,
a plague across the lands,
a fate that was yet but taken, where a prayer used to stand,
an rejoice it once again, for it is not a man,
so beg onto your knees the gospel if you can,
as for certain i will sye, the words in which you cry,
the testament of his glory, is in the cradle in which we lie.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mustard poetry! Your poetry is Okay, but I most certainly will challenge you! ! Nothing Pulitzer worthy of the 4 poems I've read! ! Average Acorn! ! ! !