My Name Poem by Michael Walker
My Name
My name is sweet in your mouth,
But now it is a whisper in the desert.
I make my escape to the south,
Where I still feel your hurt.
We are sands in need of water,
Leaves in need of rain,
Martyrs to the slaughter
By those who feel no pain.
Grow flowers in your pillow,
As your angel must ordain,
That like the weeping willow,
You will not forget my name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 8:59:38 AM # 1.0.0.1119
