Could let me move and attest
The power of taking a test
In the life of humanity
Or was it womanity
Like a wounded dog
I held to the heavy log
In the Katrina's thick fog
And my nose took the rare air
Savouring the entire deadly fire
A second ticked an hour hit
And the engine coughed fit
For the long expedition of the elite
No jam no pothole could hinder
The target of a blossoming pathfinder
It is a choice
That sits in the silent voice
Waiting to crush the unnecessary noise
And match ahead to the cross line
For in that there is a fine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem