Me?
I'm a wooden door,
Full of holes and nails.
Holes and nails,
That in me were put,
Along the way.
And howbeit all these,
Holes and nails,
Without restoration, replacement, or repair,
I've become well aware,
That I'm one of the most beautiful doors,
Ever to be made.
*An old synoptic one I found, dating from 2012.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely poem, Gina. Thanks for sharing
Thank you for the nice compliment, Kurt. :)