You'll find me wandering through the Millennium Pages,
An amusing look cast on my placid face.
Immaculate clothes that withstood the ravage and rages,
From the push and pull
Of a turbulent pace.
Amongst the ruin and cinders of damnable war,
My Spirit was venerated throughout.
On bending knees the victims implore,
As their lives and homes were savaged in rout.
I am the precious dregs that soothes the dry throat,
The Prayer for rain on the Barron dry Earth.
The Elixir of dreams, the days yearning antidote
Of every dear Soul of pain wrenching birth.
I'm the fleeting dream of the Vagrant you'll see,
Asleep in the doorway with ‘The Financial Times' for a bed.
The April in the seed of many passionate pleas,
Every Electioneering sprawl that you've never read.
I'm the Abracadabra for the better life,
The Wand that will change Serf into King.
An Ivory Knight when chaos is rife,
I'm Pandora's lone gift when the Miseries took Wing.
I'm the Roll of the dice with the Lottery draw,
The Cross fingers that help you to cope.
The authority that misfortune holds in awe,
For such is my worth, as my blest name is Hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem