In God's garden, where man goes to feast
Where his soul is empty to say the least,
With its onions and lettuce and carrots and greens
And tomatoes and beets and radishes and beans,
There is even food for the tamed or wild beast.
The caretaker there is a priest
He helps strengthen the body with the plants proteins,
The vegetables he waters and harvests and cleans.
In God's Garden.
The garden it lies towards the east
Where the property is not owned, but only leased,
There is no vegetables there, only tangerines
And it is always visited by black limousines,
There, lies the soulless bodies of the deceased;
In God's garden.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem