PILOTE, with two blazing pistols, and
a stiff drink called, politics, and
judas, hanging from a tree, forgive me
lord he cries, for it was the devel,
not me...and darkness fell on this
place, like the tears from the clouds,
and the blood from a lamb.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
fellow poets, this was in one of my dreams, ................