Full of church;
and old bent knees popping
when silence helps the pause to hear
a thick tounge speaking Latin hymns.
Young pretties gathered up
all they could pointing north for favor.
While the young lads fidget moving to and fro
lifting a mysterious brow, though one side
taps the phew wanting to play hide and seek.
As the time grows near all the hungry mouths
little mosses and Marie's clutch beads,
eyes growing wider to listen as they who make
those popping noises rush the alter
wanting all to see the suffering they have endured.
Little minds so bright,
will gift a common theme to ease their pain,
with more kept back to comfort them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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