She is tired of rest and weeps,
If I could keep her innermost free.
Tearless, alive and loved by all but she,
Just one breath of love not hate.
And not discouraged now to wait,
Row after row of sorrow veiled we've laid on men.
She if I could keep a place to come to lay her head,
Free for even just one night to come and pray.
If but from she if could I do just this, then,
With a quiet voice and as she grew more wise.
Could not God for her be filled with love's, forgiving eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem