Deep feeling, though combined with airy whimsy,
provides as upbeat rhythmic threnody
for Monday morning quarterbacks with flimsy
excuses, pointing out no remedy
for moves that can’t be justified. Mistakes
should not be, like Euridyce, recalled;
the past is dead, and though the hurt heart aches,
cannot by deepest feelings be enthralled.
(6/19/07)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem