From my shaky cradle this rare music develops,
Yet no lyrics has written for a sad song.
I get frequent calls and I guess those are from the hell.
They want me to govern there it seems,
But I won't be a President ever as I never been to a war or practiced in a justice court.
I write my own epitaph here; 'This simpleton who sleeps in this abandoned graveyard scribbled half of his life and the manuscript has eaten by parasites.
Beautifully written. You do indeed have a rare gift. Just keep on penning and let the future of your unique work take care of itself. Always your friend, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Angst personified by your magical pen. 'Shaky cradle' is particularly poignant. Your poems continue to intrigue and delight. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥