Kerkera - Poem by Morgan Michaels
Kerkera, I'm leaving you, my love.
You know the reasons:
I can't fish, I can't farm
and I'm allergic to all tourists.
Adio, my native land
Where shall your like be found?
Where the sounds and soft airs?
There is a fourth Fate that governs income.
Up the saint of any other deme!
Captain, weigh anchor, malakia,
Keep, oh my friends, me, keep me
from Athens we sail for America.
St. Spiridon, St. Spiridon
money first, then
to the haven of your holy bones
light me safely home, again.
Comments about Kerkera by Morgan Michaels
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye