I look over the edge,
my legs start to totter
what's all this madness
against self-slaughter?
That I'm fifty-three
I am alone as a stone
there's a darkness over me
I am dead to the bone
I totter to the ledge
I stare to the eyes of
the black lady's daughter
what's all the madness
against self-slaughter?
the clouds are thick
they are heavy and dark
what's madding is
it's shining at the park
the young cuties are out
I'm a ghost to them
the only mistress that knows I'm about
wears a long dark hem.
I look to another day
I wonder what's the bother
why can't God decide
to agree to self slaughter?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very nice