He died, so she died,
though he's in the ground.
If he had it his way.
He'd reverse it around.
Grieving widow in black.
She plays her part well.
Prays for his soul,
while he's rotting in hell.
Prays for her man,
who by now,
she's made a saint,
but all who knew him alive,
are pretty sure that he ain't!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem