What will it take, I wonder;
to get all of 'em to realise.
That I ain't sinister, I ain't bad;
I ain't a pain either, but none hears my tale.
I make them happy with words and deeds,
acts of love, of simple care.
In return I get cold caresses,
distanced by sugary words, courtesy extra.
With errands small I cross loyal frontiers,
possible cos of my simple heart.
In return I get shattered hopes,
'No, you can never be one of us.'
I was there for people day and night,
ready to jump into a game of death.
In return I get no life, but hemlock slow;
classic case of mistaken cause.
I gave many, the sweetest of honey and dew,
little packets of joy from my soul straight.
In return why am I ignored and left,
this pain in my tale, when will it end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem