I pity those who cannot write,
Who go to bed and sleep at night,
To live their lives without insight,
It's true... I pity those...
I pity those who cannot write,
Who see the world in black and white,
No coloured themes, so sweet, so bright,
It's true... I pity those...
I pity those who cannot write,
Who never share some form of plight
And in that sharing end their spite,
It's true... I pity those...
I pity those who cannot write,
Who guard each secret as in fright,
Close to their chests to hold them tight,
It's true... I pity those...
I pity those who cannot write,
Who never have a fight to fight,
No striving for the highest height,
It's true... I pity those...
I pity those who cannot write,
Who seek to find no inner light,
Who never learn the Saviour's might,
Indeed, I pity those...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2013.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem