I should quiet my tongue to uttering of love so grand.
My head so low as I draw lines in the sand.
My family is gone and the day is longer still.
I sit here in the darkest ways and wait while hours play. Drumming fingers and a pen in my hand takes me to another place. A world so merry in rhyme and reason.
One where love wins against treason. My eyes shed proof of a strange past truth and my future beckons skies so blue.
I stand on the cusp that thrives and am happy to be in the labour of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem