When I ran the Mediterranean desert
Burns were my only excerpt
The stare of the sun
Did put my heart on the run
Knees bent
And my heart rent
Blisters painted on my middle rib
Which crystals into a baby on dis crib
In the mist of a land so dry
I poured out a cry
Seeking t water it with a tear
But my ply it refused wear
The color of the sun I couldn't discern
Yet I sought a pious concern
To look upon this stately seed
And make her my creed
To give ears to her petition
To applaud her rendition
To wear her tears
And bear all of her fears
In the mist of rough sand
I'll stand
That I may attend her need
And assume her as creed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So dry! ! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.