The nuns in my fingers
Forever are smiling,
Not like the ones
That I see in a church,
Dignified, dour,
And sadly declining
In every requisite
Of mirth.
I know why I like this: the happy start and then the quick, abrupt change in mood with its poignant description. There! Kind regards, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very moody but deep and meanful poem.