Instead of consistently
carrying this bundle of rags
and mopping
the stormy remains of Rosing
I will settle myself down
onto my warm bed
let her go through
its own havoc, there are indeed
stormy months.
Let the storm go through its time
with mercy, hopefully
and then I will mop again.
Let the season of storms
be part of our lives, gracefully.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem