Red was my Mama
They called me Little Red
Sometimes I think I see her
But it's just my reflection instead
I'm the spitting image of her
From my neck to my fiery head
She's gone now and I'm the Queen Mother
That bakes the Manna bread
You can call me Sister Paradox
Or Hermeneutica, it's all cool
Even call me Sister of Mercy
Just don't call me a fool
I'm misunderstood, misused, and mistaken
Misinformed and sometimes misled
Misinterpreted and often misquoted
But mostly I'm just misread
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very personal and special for that reason, and too, I get the last stanza completely. Hang in there and always be yourself.... 'cause the ones who get you, really get you - and that's what matters. : ]