Sore Throat Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Sore Throat
With a sore throat
I tried to sing
I tried to get up he field
With one of my hands in a sling
But then
From these I
though I wished to versify
I said: I shall wait
And utter no word till the moment be come
And so I did
And I sang then as the bird sing
Yet with more technique
And
That technique the lovelier made my song
And the beauty's shrine in the verses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/29/2026 1:50:06 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
